


familiar blood

by bio_at



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, F/M, Gen, and avoids saber at all costs, archer cooks for rin, with extra scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 22:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bio_at/pseuds/bio_at
Summary: a retelling of unlimited blade works, from archer's perspective.(or: archer is not as smooth as he likes to think he is, a fic)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by the fact that archer, stoic, cynical, jaded archer, is still the same old shirou we've come to love through the fate series; just a little grumpier. archer has captivated me since the first moment i saw him on rin's couch in the VN prologue; enough to make me write a fic literally ten times longer than anything i've ever written before.
> 
> this work's primary reference is the 2014 ufotable unlimited blade works anime, because i value my sanity and didn't want to further prolong this originally-supposed-to-be-5k-words behemoth. i've also read the realta nua version of all three routes + last episode, and so this work contains references to those as well.
> 
> endless thanks to Shutterbutters, my endlessly patient beta and the person who had the idea for this fic in the first place, who endured messages at the oddest moments about the oddest, tiniest details that fascinated and stumped me in equal measure, mostly regarding archer himself; this would literally not exist without you. <3
> 
> general cw for the same violence and death the original series had.

The moment he is summoned, he knows he isn’t summoned as a Counter Guardian.

For one, the mana source is a person—he feels a direct link to them, _a Master_ , he knows instinctively, so he must be a Servant. And Counter Guardians are summoned in response to events, not into Victorian era-looking living rooms, destroyed by the force of his summoning.

Certainly not familiar-looking living rooms like these, tugging at the edges of his long-gone memory. He drops back into the nearest couch, looking around—

The door gets blown off its hinges and a girl bursts in, harried and surprised at the state of the living room, all upturned furniture and unsettled dust. He can’t help but start a little; she, like the living room, stirs something in his memory; but he quickly regains his composure and smirks at her. Such a young, seemingly inexperienced Master would be troublesome; he’d have to take the lead on this one.

“Well? What are you supposed to be?” The girl glares at him from across the room, after flailing around uselessly for a bit.

“That’s the first thing you say to me?” he scoffs, his worst suspicions confirmed. “It seems I’ve been drawn by an outrageous Master indeed. Good grief. Or was it I who drew the short straw?”

She stands up, projecting newfound confidence. “Just to be clear. You’re my Servant, right?”

The question spikes his irritation; he is as much her Servant as she is his Master, and he makes sure to let her know that that was not much, considering how incompetent she was being so far.

Incompetent Master notwithstanding, she’s still a potential victim of the Grail War. So he throws out the monologue he’s taken to heart over who knows how much time, refined through years of trial and error, of trying to protect the humans he’d long since vowed to care for, but kept running headlong into their own destruction. It all boiled down to the same thing.

_Stay out of the way and let me handle this._

_If it’s only me in the face of casualty, I will be the only casualty._

_(Please let me be the only casualty—)_

It’s standard at this point, this speech, and he catches the anger on her face. So he adds in how he would win the Grail for her, like any good Servant. “...Anyway, leave everything to me, and see to your own well-being,”  he finishes offhandedly. “I don’t expect anything from you—”

“—Now I’m mad!” The girl yells, her voice sharp in the cold night. “Fine! If that’s how you’re going to be, I’ll _use one_!” She raises her right fist, leaving no room for doubt about what she is about to do. “ _Anfang!_ ”

A Command Spell— “You _wouldn’t_!”

“I would! You ill-mannered _lout!_ ” She casts the rest of the spell in frantic German, and for the first time since entering the living room he panics—the base panic at his Master’s brashness and something _deeper,_ more primal. His very soul screams in recognition as he remembers the girl he used to know, who would take his self-sacrificial instinct as an insult and waste a Command Spell on something this petty, who was the Master of an Archer in a Grail War—

“Wait! Are you crazy, Master?! Who would use a Command Spell—”

“ _Shut up!_ You’re my Servant! That means _absolute obedience_ to everything I say!”

The force of her Command Spell blows across the room and envelops his entire existence. He feels his magical energy pulse, the mana from his Master reacting, reinforcing the bond forged by the contract, tightening its hold on him.

The outer circle on her Command Spell fades, and Archer looks at his new Master with a new sense of foreboding.

\--

He quietly considers the situation as she takes him to the sitting room.

He’d had an idea from the very beginning that this is the chance he’s been waiting for, the chance to end the cycle of death and tears that had long since shattered everything he believed in. He, the Heroic Spirit Emiya, has been summoned into the Fifth Grail War as this girl’s Archer, and his former self, Emiya Shirou, was to summon Arturia Pendragon as his Saber.

 _(—looking up at the intruder, feeling like a fool, knocked over on the floor—_ )

He finally has the chance to bring about the logical end to his pointless life—the only way he could stop seeing crying people was to not see at all, and who better to take his life than he himself? But it is too early to go for his former self at once. Destroying his ideal was equally important as taking his life, so that he wouldn’t become a Counter Guardian.

Try as he might, he isn’t able to bring to mind her name; his life had been too long ago to remember details like that. Only a few basic facts come back to him, even though she had been his closest friend in life. One of these facts, he realizes with some surprise, is that the red gem pendant he keeps inside his jacket at all times must have been used as the relic for his summoning. She is a valuable ally, and at the moment, it is within his best interests to keep in her company and support her as a Servant.

That being said, once they enter the sitting room he chastises her for the hastily used Command Spell, but grudgingly admits to the tightening in his chest he’d been feeling since then. He acknowledges her properly as his Master and his equal, not only because he remembers who she is and what she is as a magus, but because she does have his respect, after all these years.

Not that he’d admit it, in those words, anyway.

With potentially too much nostalgia welling up in his chest, he can’t help but fluster her, overdoing the praise to make her blush and turn away, her hair swinging around her head in that familiar way.

The look on her face turns contemplative, and she whips her head back around to face him. “…Wait, you aren’t Saber?”

He blinks. There was no way he would be summoned as the Saber-class Servant in this Grail War, not with Avalon still in Emiya Shirou’s body. The lie slips out of his mouth, almost on reflex: “I hate to disappoint, but I have no sword.”

“Which makes you Archer.” He shrugs; he’d already figured out that much. “Boy, I blew it. I used all those gems, and I still didn’t get Saber.”

For the second time in less than an hour, she spikes his irritation. “Well, pardon me for not being Saber.”

“Eh, it was a regrettable mistake, but I’m to blame,” she muses.

He wonders if she even heard what he said, and crosses his arms. Self-centered as ever. “I’ll make you rue those words. And when the day comes, apologize all you want. I won’t forgive you.”

Through their bond, he feels the first pulse of emotion from his Master— _amusement_ , he thinks, so out of place considering their conversation. Even looking away, he can tell that she is dancing across the room to stand in front of him. “Then you’d better follow through on that promise, Archer. When you do, I’ll see that you accept my apology.”

And it feels like the beginning of something new when he turns to face her, this smiling girl half his height clad in shades of red just a touch warmer than the own jacket he had over his shoulders. “Very well. Don’t forget that… _Master_.”

\--

He’s just about to breathe a mental sigh of relief as they’re heading back downstairs when she asks which Heroic Spirit he is. He saw this coming, really, but it doesn’t make it any less ironic. He keeps on a poker face as he carefully words his replies. She takes the lie with no hesitation, her only concern that it would be harder to strategize without knowing his strengths.

“And now for your first job, Archer,” she begins; he perks up immediately, turning to face him on the landing.

He smiles. “Right down to business? You’re an aggressive one. Who is the first enem—”

She throws a broom and dustpan at him, and he blinks confusedly at them until she reaffirms his worst fear. “Clean up the living room. You made that mess, so I’m expecting you’re going to fix it.”

Her mana surges through him at the simple order, reinforced by the Command Spell. She smirks at him, but he’s nothing if not persistent. “Wait. What do you think Servants are, exactly?”

“Familiars, right?” She leans forward, daring him to challenge her. “These talk back and are no end of trouble, though.”

The force of her Command Spell persists at him; he relents. “—As you wish. Damn you, Master.”

\--

The living room looks somehow more demolished when he returns.

Realistically, the mess isn’t his fault, he thinks, as he puts down the broom to haul up a side table to a standing position. It’s a side effect of the summoning, and possibly of the fact that he’s been summoned into a time where another version of him exists.

Still, he’d always had an urge to clean anything that wasn’t spotless until it was, so he goes about picking up books and sorting them according to title, straightening upended cabinets and couches, and he even airs out the table runner—the living room was obviously never used, and she didn’t seem to bother, making him clean it out of pure spite.

The furniture is intricate, highly embellished, ornate in the way only furniture in an elite family’s old mansion could be. He’s taking out the dust from a table leg when he remembers—she had been the daughter of one of the ancient mage families that started the Holy Grail War. Three ancient families...

 _Einzbern, Makiri…_ _Tohsaka._

 _That one_ , his soul seems to scream. _Tohsaka,_ he’d called her in life. It isn’t her given name, but it’s a start.

Getting everything back in order takes longer than he thought, and by the time he’s done, his Master is still deeply asleep, even with the sun peeking through the windows. He’s already planning to prepare Tohsaka’s breakfast, out of force of habit. When he catches himself he figures, sure, why not.

The biggest risk of being her Servant is that she is in the best position to figure out his identity. As much as the eons had changed him, he doubts that he’s completely wiped away all traces of his personality. And being with her again, in his own time era, floods him with emotion like nothing else could. He would have to be careful not to act overly familiar toward her too; he makes a mental note to ask her for her name in the morning.

If nothing else, he figures, there’s no way she’ll complain about his habit of preparing meals.

He picks through the kitchen drawers, until he pauses at a box of black tea. They would always have tea when they talked, he remembers, until he had to move on with his life. From then on, correspondence had deteriorated like a rotting leaf and eventually faded to nothingness, leaving him with no one.

Still, it gives him more than enough experience with preparing her tea; the way he had come to prepare it came from her, and that much had not changed about him. He sets about familiarizing himself with the kitchen, remembering where everything was for when he went to prepare breakfast, for when his Master wakes up.

He dematerializes to wait.

\--

“The sun came up long ago,” he says sternly, two hours later, bringing out his Master’s newly made tea on a tray he’d found in one of the cupboards. “You’re quite the slacker, aren’t you?”

He serves her the tea and stands back, watching her face carefully. She reacts in such obvious surprise to the flawlessly made tea that he has to look away to hide the smile on his face.

“What are you smirking for?” Tohsaka grumbles. “More to the point, have you remembered who you are?”

“No,” he lies easily.

“Fine,” she accepts, easily. “I’ll think of what to do about your amnesia in due time. Get ready for an outing, Archer. I’ll show you around the city.”

The city he grew up in. Sure. “Before that, Master, aren’t you forgetting something important?”

“Something important?” she asks.

“Good grief,” Archer looks away, in fake exasperation. “We have yet to carry out the most important part of our contract.”

“...The most important exchange of our contract?” Tohsaka repeats.

For the sake of consistency, Archer decides to repeat something he already knows, too. “You really aren’t a morning person, are you, girl?”

“Who do you think you are, calling me ‘girl’?! I—oh… shoot. Our names.”

“It finally clicked? So, Master… from now on, what should I call you?”

She raises her head and smiles at him. “I’m Tohsaka Rin.”

And he recalls like a jolt of lighting _—Rin. Ah, that’s the name—_ and his heart fills with much endearment, close to insanity.

“Call me whatever you please,” Rin continues, picking up the teacup again, oblivious to how his world has kind of stopped.

“’Rin,’ then.” There was some pleasure to be gained in calling her by first name when he had rarely done so in life. Moreover, calling her ‘Tohsaka’ might set off something in either one of them. Out of spite, he adds smoothly, “Yes, I believe the sound of it suits you.”

Rin coughs into her tea, her embarrassment making him smirk.

\--

Archer dematerializes for the trip, hovering at his Master’s shoulder. She takes the bus into Miyama, getting off at the same bus stop, walking the same roads he once did. She points out landmarks, parks, buildings—but he’s only half listening, like she’s giving the tour for someone else. Very little of his human memories remain, but he much prefers attempting to remember the city as he did, not as Rin did.

The gaps in his memory affect everything except for one place—a place which Rin takes him, late in the day, when the sun is golden and the place looks aflame.

“This is the Shinto park,” Rin says, voice a little tired. “We’ve covered the most important places. What do you think?”

“This is a large park,” he says blankly. Out of some stupid compulsion, he says, “…Is there some particular reason why it’s so deserted?”

“You noticed that too, huh?” Rin’s eyes remain forward, but he gets the sense that if he were materialized, she would’ve glanced at him. “It’s because this place has a bit of history. It happened ten years ago…”

Of course, in this time, it was only ten years ago—still relatively fresh in the memory of the city, and eventually fading into printed text in history books and newspapers in the decades that pass. She mentions the fire and the Grail War, and his iron heart twists like it hasn’t in a long time—

— _the fire that took his family, his life, which irretrievably entwined him with the Holy Grail War, that literally burned into him the hopes and ideals that he thought at the time breathed new life into him, only to lose it when the very same thing he believed in took his life_ —

“I see. That’s why this place is so filled with malice,” he manages to say.

“You can sense that kind of thing?” Rin murmurs in surprise.

Was that too much? The fire was an off-limits topic for him, even in life, so he’s fairly sure that being honest, or at least hinting at being honest, wouldn’t hurt. “Servants are non-corporeal,” he begins. “Our state of being is similar to grudges or obsession. That leaves us sensitive to regrets in that same vein. This place in particular is special. From our perspective, it’s almost what we would call a Reality Marble...” Rin turns her head to the side, as if looking around for him. “Rin? What is it?”

“You caught my attention, is all,” she says offhandedly, although the guarded look on her face doesn’t change. “I was amazed that an Archer like you would know about things like Reality Marbles.”

Ah. “What, you find it odd that I know such things? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Among mages, a Reality Marble is a taboo among taboos, the most secret of secret arts. You wouldn’t expect an Archer to know about them.”

He sighs. “Rin, ‘Heroic Spirit’ refers to one skilled in both the martial and magical arts. You’re free to think that I can only use a bow because I’m an Archer, but please don’t take that simplistic view with the other Servants.”

“F-fine. You’ve made your point. I spoke without thinking,” Rin allows grudgingly. On the defensive. He mentally celebrates his victory. “I’ll be more careful from now on. Happy now?”

He takes the opportunity to say something he remembers about her: one of her faults. “Rin, let me be frank. You are gifted, but as a result of that, you have a tendency to belittle others. Correct that bad habit before you grow up.”

“’Correct that habit’?! You say the rudest things as if they were nothing!” she yells, in adorable outrage. He makes no restraint on his amusement, knowing she felt it from him.

“My apologies,” he says unapologetically. “But it’s not as if I had called you an unruly tomboy. I merely used the expression that seemed to best fit what I saw.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “That only makes it worse!!” Then she grimaces, as if in pain, and he’s immediately alert. “Rin?”

“Hush, Archer. My Command Spells are reacting to something, I’m certain.” At once, Archer focuses his senses, and probes the area for any sort of magical activity. Rin continues, “We’re being watched from somewhere nearby. I won’t be able to find them. How about you, Archer?”

“It’s difficult,” he admits, coming up with nothing. “I can’t even sense anyone’s eyes on us.”

“Which means we’re being watched by a Master. This is tricky,” Rin murmurs. “Have we been walking around with a bullseye on our backs?”

“Probably,” he concedes, coming back to rest at her side. “Still, it saves us the trouble of going out to look for them.”

\--

She takes him to the top of an office building, one she says is the tallest in the city. He glides soundlessly to the top, sitting on the water tower as she takes the slow elevator up, sending her a ping of smugness when she opens the door.

“Shut up,” she says calmly, even though he hasn’t said anything yet, let alone materialized. She walks to the edge of the building without breaking stride, standing to look over the city. “So, what do you think? Isn’t this a great vantage point?”

He materializes so he can sigh. “You should have brought me here first and saved us all that walking around.”

She smiles at the skyline of the city, her territory. “What are you talking about? All you get from up here is a bird’s eye view of the city. You can’t get a feel for how a city is laid out unless you go places in person.”

“That isn’t quite true,” he replies. “I’m not an Archer-class Servant for nothing. You can’t be a bowman without excellent eyesight. For instance, I can make out the precise number of tiles on that bridge.” It feels like stretching out long-forgotten muscles, being on top of the building with the wind blowing through his hair, finally able to use his new Archer-class senses to the fullest.

“I’m amazed,” Rin says, and he’d take it as sarcasm, but he can feel for himself that the words ring true. “So you really _are_ an Archer!”

There it was, the characteristic backhanded insult/compliment. “Rin. Could it be that you’re mocking me?”

“Of course not.”

And all too suddenly she freezes, looking at a point straight down from the rooftop, her heart skipping a beat.

He tries to read the expression on her face. “Have you spotted an enemy?”

“No, just an acquaintance. An ordinary person who has nothing to do with this.”

Undeterred, he raises a more important topic: Rin’s wish for the Holy Grail. It is not in his interests as a Servant to fight for someone who would use the Holy Grail to destroy more lives, just as it had done with his own. But she surprises him by saying she doesn’t have a wish, and so he asks the obvious: “Why, then, do you fight?”

She turns around to face him, her eyes bright. “Because there’s a battle to be fought, Archer.”

The answer really shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. “Then, you…”

“I simply fight to win,” she says simply.

He blinks. Pride surges through him for this young mage, already so sure of herself. He had seen her come far in life, but only now does he properly appreciate again, what she was ( _is_ ), and why he’d adored her in his youth.

“All right, I concede,” he begins respectfully, falling to attention, for the first time feeling his designation as one of the knight Servants. “I admit that you are indeed worthy of my loyalty. You are, without doubt, the perfect Master. There is no better person I could hope to serve.” He bows formally to prove it; a declaration of loyalty to his lord.

She’s taken aback by his honesty (and possibly the whole knight act), and she can’t pretend like she thinks he’s lying, either, because she can feel it. This emotional bond was either going to be very useful or very problematic, once they’d both gotten used to it. She turns back to him with a bright smile, her cheeks pink.

\--

Rin calls the overseer from the Church the next day, with the same dismissal he remembers treating him with. Afterwards, he idles by as she seems to go about preparing for school. He holds his tongue to give her the benefit of the doubt— that is, until she steps outside the gate. He moves soundlessly, invisible, to her side.

“Are you going to school?” he says.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” she replies, not breaking stride.

After the conversation on the rooftop last night, his trust for her had somewhat settled, so he discusses her safety much more calmly. She tells him about the Matous, and she’s fairly confident that there are no other Masters—but he can remember at least one other mage from the school that she’s unaware of.

Surely enough, the moment Rin steps through the gate, a chill invades her lungs—as though the air was humid with blood. She rushes to a relatively quiet stairwell to discuss it with him, and he’s pleased that she has a good handle on the situation.

He has a few ideas about what to do, but he remembers his place. “So what is your plan, Rin?” he asks.

“Whether they’re first, third, or any rate, anyone who thinks they can put up crude garbage like this in my territory gets taken out!” She stands up from the wall she’d been leaning against. “Listen, Archer—to begin with, let’s examine the field after school. We can decide whether to remove or leave it after we’ve determined its nature.”

A sound of rustling paper interrupts them, and Rin turns to leave. “We’ll talk later, Archer,” she says, walking away. He tips his head in acknowledgment, even though she can’t see, and before he leaves, he barely catches a glimpse of the Matou girl.

\--

He doesn’t remember the school, but Rin’s classes give him enough time to look around for himself. Keeping a careful watch on Rin for any alert, he goes around the school to look for magical anomalies.

He goes through hallways and rooms, desks and bookshelves, and gets lost more than once. There are obvious magical distinctions around certain areas, anchoring the magical field securely around the entirety of the school. He figures there must be magical circles around him, but they must be covered up since he can’t see them. He’ll have to settle for showing Rin around later on.

At 4 on the dot, he feels the pull from his Master, so he goes up to her, packing away her things at her desk. He takes her around to the magic circles, unspeaking. At every one, she holds out her hand to it and probes it, figures it out.

When they get to the last one on the rooftop, they discuss the nature of the boundary field: soul-eating magic, one that endangers the entire school. The obvious culprit would be another Master, feeding souls to a Servant.

Rin turns away in obvious disgust when he brings it up. “I’m aggravated. Never speak of such things again, Archer.”

He smiles to himself. “In that, we are of one mind. I would never do such a thing.”

She relaxes, lets his emotion through her. “Let’s erase it, then. I may not be able to dispel it completely, but I can throw a spanner in the works.”

“You’re going to erase it? What a waste.”

Archer turns quickly to the sound of the new voice, ready to materialize and fight at his Master’s word. Regardless, this man—obviously a Servant, and obviously Lancer, from the red spear slung over his shoulders—would have known that he’s there next to her, too focused on the boundary to notice anything else.

He glances around—the rooftop was too enclosed for him to fight to his strengths, especially against the Lancer-class Servant. If he was to have at least a fair fight, he would need much wider grounds, such as the oval directly to the west. They would have to jump over or break through the fence; Rin probably knew enough magic to do either, but he would have to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Is this your handiwork?” Rin asks him.

“No,” the spearman scoffs. “Dirty tricks are a mage’s job. My kind simply fights when and where we’re told.” Then Lancer’s eyes snap onto him, poised invisible and ready to fight at his Master’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, my invisible brother?”

“So you can see Archer,” Rin says, wild excitement flooding their bond. “You’re a Servant!”

“And if you can tell that, princess, can I assume you’re my enemy?”

Rin finally senses that the battle is coming, and analyzes their surroundings like he did before. Lancer laughs. “You seem ignorant, but you have the gist of things.” And Archer can’t help the pulse of annoyance that he feels, echoed back by Rin. “I really blew it. Ah well—I really should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Lancer pounces but Rin is already running, casting the magic he’d believed she knew, jumping easily over the fence, and he’s already flying through the air—

“Archer, break my fall!”

She’s curled in on herself, eyes closed, complete trust in him—and even before the weak pulse of mana at her command he’s already reaching out, catching her easily.

She keeps running when he sets her down on the ground, drawn forward by the momentum, Lancer hot on her heels and lunging forward to attack. Archer materializes fully and projects Bakuya to deflect the attack.

“Archer!”

The blue Servant stops five meters away, sizing him up. Archer stands upright, defenseless, the black blade in his left hand.

“That’s more like it,” Lancer says, with what sounds like genuine happiness. “I like people who get straight down to business.”

Archer remembers saying the exact same thing to Rin, only a few days ago, and Rin herself says, “You’re a Lancer-class Servant!”

“Indeed. Your Servant doesn’t strike me as a Saber, though.” The second person in three days to be disappointed that he wasn’t Saber. “Who are you?” He doesn’t honor the question with a response—Lancer keeps talking. “You don’t seem like the duelist type. So, an Archer.”

He should be flattered that Lancer immediately assumes that he’s Archer if not Saber, but he can’t really find it in him right now. Lancer rests his weapon tip down on the ground. “Go ahead and take out your bow, Archer. I’ll wait.”

Archer remains unmoving. He waits for his Master’s word; at this point, they can fight or flee. His inaction seems to worry her—“Archer?”

He tilts his head to the side, indicating more clearly what he was waiting for, hoping she could feel the way he wished to fight.

“This guy!” Rin mutters to herself. He feels another unusual emotion from her—surprise, he realizes, surprise at being trusted enough to command him in a fight. “Archer, you’ll get no assistance from me. Show me what you’ve got, right here and now!”

He turns to smirk at her—only she would have given the command like that, and for a split second he allows himself to be thankful that he was summoned to her. He turns back to face Lancer, readying his Magic Circuits for projection.

And he jumps in the air—

—Lancer blocks his first blow, despite coming from standing upright, but he’s already pulling back and readying his next attack. He’s at an obvious disadvantage, with his total reach between his arm and his weapon, as well as the Lancer class’s penchant for agility, so he fights with what he has.

He has to attack from afar, like his class is meant to, closing the distance between them in a flash and getting in whatever hits he can, then backing away again. Lancer catches up very quickly, running to meet him when he lands for the second time—but he’s ready to parry the attack, or at least neutralize it. And in a moment, they are even, his shortsword directly meeting the red spear—and Lancer is knocked back in a cloud of smoke.

He lets Lancer close the distance again, but that proves to be a mistake—a direct hit from the spear, and Bakuya is destroyed. Lancer moves in for the kill—

_Trace, on._

In the heat of the moment, he projects both Kanshou and Bakuya to deflect the attack. Lancer stops five meters away, the fight resetting to how they’d begun.

“A mere bowman playing swordsman? Who do you think you are?”

Lancer closes the distance between them again, but with both his swords he can now fight to his fullest.

At first, Archer had hoped that he could force Lancer’s hand by fighting left-handed, he himself holding back from showing off the full extent of his skill. He’d thought it was unusual, how he could hold off Lancer even with only one sword, but with two swords he attacks more dynamically, with literally twice the fighting power—but he’s _still_ barely holding him off. Lancer is _fast_ , true to his class, but he’s fast even then. He remembers the hero from Celtic mythology, outstripping even the fiercest hound in all the land—

But fighting with Lancer doesn’t feel like fighting with someone who was trying his hardest to kill. Curious, he thinks—it’s as if Lancer were just matching his strength instead of trying to beat him outright.

Lancer keeps going straight for his weapons now, but it’s no problem, he’s projected much more, in far worse condition before. He projects the second, the third, the tenth—

“Twenty-seven,” Lancer says suddenly, in a moment when they stand apart. “To think I’ve disarmed you twenty-seven times, and yet you still have more.”

He ignores that. “What’s the matter? This wait-and-see approach isn’t like you. Where’d all that bravado go?”

“Trying to provoke me, you sly fox?” Lancer tsks. “Fine, I’ll just ask you. What Heroic Spirit are you? I’ve never heard of an archer who wields two swords.”

He puts that aside, too. “You, on the other hand, are easily identifiable. They say that only the swiftest heroes can be Lancers, and you stand head-and-shoulders above them. There aren’t even three spear-wielders of your skill in all of history. Add in a beast’s agility, and that leaves but one.”

“Oh? You flatter me, Archer.” Cu Chulainn takes another stance, and his spear bursts in a flash of red light that matches his eyes. His Noble Phantasm, the spear of the Hound of Ireland.

“I won’t stop you. You are an enemy I must ultimately overcome.” He visualizes Rho Aias in his mind, the strongest defense he has, that if nothing else could stop Gae Bolg—

He hears the footsteps before Lancer, and hopes it wouldn’t distract him, but it does; Lancer is gone in a wink, and Rin runs up to him. “A student? Someone was still here?”

“So it seems. It saved my life, though.”

“Wait, where did Lancer go?”

“He chased after the shadow,” Archer says, looking at her. “I assume he means to eliminate them as a witness.”

“Follow them, Archer! I’ll catch up!” Rin orders, sending that familiar surge of mana through him. She starts running after the silhouette, and Archer speeds towards Lancer’s distinct energy, on the second floor of the main building.

There he sees a familiar body, in familiar clothes, with the spear that was not too long ago aimed at his own heart poking through the back, its wielder looking bored as he pulls the weapon out with a sickening sound. Lancer turns around, barely enough to look at him, expression unreadable, his body slowly dissolving into crimson specks of mana that float off into the night.

Archer looks back at the body on the floor, shock of orange hair barely visible in the dark amidst the sandy brown uniform. All too suddenly he is aware of how different he is from the boy. He is much younger, much smaller, his eyes and his hair still bright with life.

If anything, he thinks blankly, Lancer got to kill him—he just didn’t realize it.

He thought he’d be more distraught when he finally saw his former self, but he’s probably too far gone to feel even this, he thinks bitterly. The red pendant presses over his heart as he turns to Rin, arriving at the stairs, and it’s only then when he remembers with sickening clarity what happens next.

This is where she gives him the pendant, the very thing that enabled his Heroic Spirit to be here in the first place. He can’t end it here; he has to let her heal him, and give him the pendant.

Rin walks to stand next to him, the picture of quiet composure. “Archer, follow Lancer. If we don’t at least learn his Master’s face, none of this will have been worth it.”

He has no choice but to nod, and dematerialize, already moving away and sharpening his senses for any sign of Lancer or his Master. He moves out of the school boundary, but as much as he tries, he can’t focus on the search; he’s reeling from seeing his younger self, as well as the fact that Lancer would be well out of even his range by now.

The biggest distraction, however, is what he feels from Rin, clear even halfway across the city in its potency—he can tell the exact moment she realizes it’s Emiya Shirou, her resulting grief, her shame towards Sakura... and the realization that she can _save_ him.

The strength of her feelings cascades through him like the ocean angrily lapping at the shore; and something clicks, long overdue.

Tohsaka Rin liked Emiya Shirou.

He catches a glimpse of his Master’s memories—of a boy she saw when she visited another school, jumping a high jump against a sunset, a boy who repeatedly attempted the impossible, failing every time but persisting—

(— _trying to save everybody, to see everyone’s smiling faces, but seeing only blood and betrayal and death but persisting until he lost his own heart_ — _his own_ soul—)

He blinks, forcing the vision out of his mind, going back to reality, where he is perched on top of a lamppost, scanning for clues.

Tohsaka Rin likes Emiya Shirou.

He resumes his search, eyes and ears peeled for any sign of magical energy, but his mind is elsewhere, in a corridor of a distant school. He’d initially assumed that Rin had helped him out in the Grail War because he was a helpless Master who had no clue what was going on and it was against her morals to attack someone so clueless, but now, the actual reason stares at him in the face, as though mocking him for not seeing it earlier.

He strains himself, not to listen harder as he’s supposed to, but to remember Tohsaka Rin as he had known her in life. She had helped him out in the Grail War, yes, and afterwards, when Saber disappeared—

( _—she doesn’t smile, doesn’t turn back, tendrils of mana draining away from her body—_ )

—Rin had stayed with him, insistent on his well-being, and that had grown into a fully mature friendship that they’d maintained, and eventually let fade over the years. On hindsight, he figures he must have been flattered, becoming the best friend of the school idol, but he was too caught up, his heart too full of someone else, of someone long gone.

Archer gives himself a mental shake. _That’s not important anymore. Focus on the plan. Kill Emiya Shirou._

Ironic that his Master is currently restoring Emiya Shirou’s dead body. Little does she know that the very pendant she was using to save his life would also bring about the end of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter divisions for this fic will be a little different than the original series since archer is a different character with different focuses and pauses! but it's not like you don't know what happens next... right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His tin heart pounds furiously, as though it sensed the end was near, either from bursting with emotion from seeing her again or taking her sword through his chest.

After an hour, Archer reports back at the mansion, where his Master is lying silently in the living room, keeping her feelings carefully back under control. He wonders if she knows he’d felt all of it.

His focus had become much better as time passed, but the search for Lancer was still fruitless, and he reports as much to her. She accepts his failure with as much grace as one could while lying dejectedly on a couch.

She just saved his life, but in doing so she also effectively ended it. He touches the pendant over his own heart, the only remnant of the past he’d kept with him all this time. He has no use for it now, so close to the end of his own existence. He takes it out, and dangles it over the back of the couch.

“Hm? You got it for me?” Rin sits up, and accepts the pendant with an outstretched hand.

“Don’t lose it again,” he says quietly. _Don’t save my life again._ “It doesn’t suit anyone but you.”

“You think? Well, thanks.” She stares blankly at the pendant. “Oh—wait.”

“What is it, Rin?”

“If Lancer’s Master learns the witness they thought they’d killed is still alive…”

“He’ll probably send Lancer back to finish the job,” he finishes. That would be the ideal outcome for him, but not if his Master had anything to say about it.

“We’re going, Archer.” She stands up and walks over to the balcony; he follows her. She’s looking towards the north side of the city, where he vaguely remembers the Emiya household is. It’s obvious that she means for him to carry her there, and he hesitates for a split second, remembering the vision of the boy in the sunset. He wonders if she would ask the same thing if she knew that he was that very same boy.

She turns back to him, impatient and wondering why her ultra-efficient Servant is stalling. “Hurry, Archer. We have no time to waste.”

He bows. “As you wish, Master.” He puts his arms behind her legs and at her back, easily sweeping her off her feet. When he makes sure that she’s settled, he leaps towards his former home.

They’re both quiet as he traverses the city, each lost in their own thoughts. He looks down at her in his arms. Had she always been this small? Or has he grown that much since last seeing her?

She catches him staring at her, so he says conversationally, “You’re inviting unnecessary trouble, you know.”

“After what it cost me to save him, I’m not about to let him die!” Her reply is fast and sharp, as though she’d been waiting for him to ask. Well, he figures, it was about time she picked up on his penchant for necessary lies.

As they come to the intersection near a very familiar Japanese-style house, Rin shouts, “He’s here! The Lancer-class Servant!” and leaps out of his arms, towards two distinctive Servant energies, the other one a bright, golden light, slightly dampened, as though summoned by a subpar Master—

He tries to warn her, but Rin is right in the line of attack and he has no choice but to throw himself between the light and his Master. He projects Bakuya and deflects the first three blows—the Servant backs away, resetting, and he steps forward to attack—

A head of golden hair, a small body bound in the finest silver armor, over a vivid blue dress that matches the ribbon in her hair, invisible sword held at the ready, her green eyes cold with murderous intent.

Archer barely regains enough composure to deflect the next two attacks, landing back next to his Master.

“The Saber-class Servant…” Rin says, as though from far away.

Saber stares them down, ready to attack. He wonders if her movements were always so precise, her dress that brightly blue. He doesn’t remember much of his life, and Saber is no exception; the way she moved, the way she looked—right now it is as much of a surprise as it was when he first looked up at her, that fateful night. Dimly he recalls how much he’d relied on her back then.

—how much he’d thought of her, missed her, _loved her_ —

His tin heart pounds furiously, as though it sensed the end was near, either from bursting with emotion from seeing her again or taking her sword through his chest. He hasn’t relied on anyone’s protection for the longest time, and he isn’t afraid of fighting her. But right now he is hyperaware of how he is her enemy in this Grail War. For a moment it feels like the world closes to the space between the two of them… she lunges forward.

“ _Stop, Saber!_ ”

The force of mana from another Master passes through Saber and freezes her movement; he sees her struggle against her Master’s Command Spell when he feels the aftershock of it pass through him, powerful but unaffecting.

Inexplicably, something inside him screams with a primal rage: _This isn’t how it goes! Saber mortally wounded Rin’s Archer on the third day—_

But he can’t deny what’s happening right now, where he’s standing, whole and unharmed, across from the fuming golden Servant, head turned back to shout at her Master.

“Are you mad, Shirou?!” Saber demands, and the sound of her voice cues his heart to once again attempt to beat out of his chest. “I could have defeated them handily, and you ordered me to stop!”

“Just hold on, Saber!” Shirou insists, that despised innocence in his eyes. “I have no idea what’s going on. If I’m your Master, at least fill me in!”

“You would demand such a thing with the enemy before us?!” Saber yells. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rin stand up, her hair covering her face, looking straight ahead, at the boy in the sunset.

“Mm, so that’s how it is, Master Shirou?” she says, interrupting the childish argument, in a much cheerier tone than he’d expected. “For starters, good evening… Emiya-kun.”

“ _Tohsaka?!_ ” Shirou says in surprise, eyes snapping to her. “What—why—”

“This is going to take a while to explain,” Rin says patiently, and Archer feels the way her heart pounds faster, an echo of what he’d felt mere seconds ago. “Can we head in? It’s dangerous to stay outside.”

“I am against this, Shirou,” Saber says, glaring at the two of them with obvious distrust.

“I know Tohsaka from school,” Shirou says defensively, as though this solved anything. “She just wants to talk, I think. Can’t we call a truce?”

“It is hard to believe that they want anything of the sort—” and here Saber’s eyes shift to meet his own, green on gray, blindingly familiar that he tenses up, willing his body not to betray the tidal wave of emotion he feels— “when her Servant can barely let go of his weapon.”

Rin glances aside at him, exasperated. “Archer, stand down. Keep watch outside, alright? I’ll handle this.”

He tears his eyes away from Saber’s to meet his Master’s. Is that reassurance? It isn’t that he doesn’t trust her to handle it; it’s that he doesn’t trust himself.

“As you wish, Master.” He drops Bakuya, letting it clatter on the pavement before it dissolves, and dematerializes.

\--

If he’s being honest, he’d put off thinking about Saber until he absolutely had to. And now, standing guard on the roof above the living room where she, Rin, and Shirou are, he has no other choice.

He remembers very little; just that he’d summoned her _(loved her)_ and that she had been the reason he won the Grail War. She would undoubtedly be the biggest obstacle he’d have to navigate to kill Shirou.

Mindlessly charging in wouldn’t work, not against her. He’d have to attack when she isn’t around. Worst case scenario, he would have to explain, to talk her out of defending Shirou. Fighting her is not an option. Even though he doesn’t remember the specifics, it’s generally not a good idea to stand between the strongest Saber-class Servant and her Master.

His bond with Rin is almost worryingly quiet while he muses to himself, until she steps outside and calls out to him.

“We’re going to the Church in Fuyuki,” she says, pulling her coat on. “Scout ahead. We’ll be safe with Saber.”

He scoffs. “Is the Master of Saber so incompetent that you alone couldn’t explain the rules of the Holy Grail War to him?”

“His name is Shirou,” Rin says. “Emiya Shirou. And it’s only in the interests of fairness that I’m helping him. He did save our lives, at the cost of a Command Spell.”

Archer holds his tongue; he knows how to pick his battles. She looks up at him coyly, and once again he’s struck by how small she is.

“There was no need to step outside to talk to me,” he says instead. “You can talk to me even from miles away, through our link as Master and Servant. It would be good to practice as well, for tactical purposes.”

“Of course,” Rin bats her eyelashes at him. “Can’t I want to see my grumpy Servant once in a while?”

In another lifetime, the casual comment would have flustered him. But he’d long since outgrown her provocations, saying things just to get a rise out of him. He stares at her blankly.

“Go,” she says again, the ghost of laughter at the edge of her lips.

He goes.

\--

‘Scouting ahead’ mostly consists of jumping invisibly across rooftops twenty meters ahead of the three as they walk to the Church, Rin giving him directions in between murmured conversations with Shirou and Saber.

_Left here, then straight across the bridge._

Rin’s thought filters into his consciousness, not quite in her voice but distinct and foreign in his mind. He’d wondered how quickly she would get used to the telepathy, and once again he is impressed. He glances at her, just in his line of sight, and she looks back up at him, grinning at his surprise. _You were the one who told me not to underestimate the people around me._

_I wasn’t saying anything,_ Archer responds, before he can stop himself. _I will go a little farther. See if you can communicate with me then._

Without waiting for a reply, he bounds ahead.

\--

He’s waiting on top of the Church when they arrive. He had stayed carefully ahead of Rin’s range, just close enough to get faint impressions of her safety, of where to go next. It was a good start.

Saber asks to be left outside, and so Rin wordlessly tells him to keep watch outside too. She and Shirou head into the Church, her dread evident.

They’d given Saber a bright yellow raincoat to hide her armor—and it’s then that he remembers: she can’t dematerialize. It doesn’t make her look any less out of place though, a human-sized yellow duckling instead of an English knight.

He hears faint voices from inside the Church—Kotomine Kirei, the overseer, and Rin’s caretaker when her father died. She had always thought of him with disdain, even when she called him this morning to tell him about Archer's summoning. Rin is on edge, more than he’d be comfortable with, but he closes his eyes, contents himself with focusing on her mana, their link, hoping to pass along some of that contentment to her.

The wind shifts and he feels a set of eyes on him—Saber, he knows instinctively, the only other being around. He returns her gaze, still guarded and hostile, and remembers belatedly that Rin might have forgotten to mention that she still had him around.

Saber averts her eyes, turning back to her patrol. Archer blinks; better to have her openly hostile towards him rather than the alternative—and he pointedly stops that train of thought right there, not thinking about a smile on her lips or her hand casually touching his arm, calling his attention. He closes his eyes again, focuses on his Master’s energy.

When they exit the Church, Rin first, she has barely enough time to tell him, _We’re going,_ when he hears another voice from the doors.

“Rejoice, boy,” Kotomine Kirei says, seemingly to Emiya Shirou, as they’re stepping outside of the Church. “Your wish will finally come true. Surely you’ve realized. Your wish cannot come true without a clear and distinct evil. Though you may refuse to admit it, a champion of justice must have an evil to defeat.”

The boy is stunned speechless, not expecting an outright attack on his ideals. Archer smirks to himself; he was going to have to be able to take more than that. Shirou walks away without saying anything, visibly disturbed, catching up to Rin and Saber at the gate.

Archer dematerializes and hovers silently, a little ways ahead of them, ready to scout again on the way back.

“Shirou? Have you finished your business here?” he hears Saber ask; her voice carries clearer in the night air.

“Yes. I have decided to fight as a Master.” Shirou pauses, looking at his Servant. “Will you agree to me as your Master, Saber?”

“My agreement is irrelevant,” Saber says, with a smile. “You have been my Master from the very start. Did I not swear that my body would be your blade?”

_Your blade,_ Archer repeats to himself. Distantly, he remembers—

_You are my sheath._

She had smiled so softly, unguarded affection in her eyes, the sunset tinting her hair molten gold. The memory crashes into him with such force that he’s worried it bleeds through to Rin.

“…Allow me to renew my vow,” Saber is saying. “So long as the Command Spells are on your body, I shall serve as your blade.”

Another bond between another Master and Servant forms, with renewed determination, in front of Master and Servant who went through something similar not too long ago. Archer tears his eyes away to glance at Rin, standing quietly by the gate. She watches the exchange with expressionless eyes that mirror his own, and although he’s sure she can feel some of his emotions, he’s not entirely sure whose jealousy it is that flows through their bond.

\--

The walk back to Miyama is quiet for Archer and Rin. Archer is fairly sure that Rin felt what he did while watching Shirou and Saber renew their contract, but there’s still a chance that she interpreted it wrong. Her silence is meditative, not emotional, and so he lets her think in peace.

All of a sudden, Rin stops walking. “No offense, but you should go home on your own.”

Shirou freezes, five meters behind her. “Huh?”

“I brought you here because you weren’t officially my enemy yet,” Rin says, and something akin to relief washes through Archer. “But now, you’re a fellow Master, Emiya-kun.”

“I have no intention of fighting you, Tohsaka.”

“I should have known,” Rin groans. “Jeez, why did I even bring you here?”

He can feel her resolve wavering, so he materializes. “Rin,” he interjects. “If an easily slain enemy presents itself, we’d be remiss not to take advantage.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Rin grumbles.

“If you agree, then act,” he says. “Or what? Will you take pity on that boy again?” She’s not even looking at him, and it’s amusing, how she can’t take what she dishes. He goes for the kill. “Hmm? Don’t tell me you have feel—”

“O-of course not!” Rin denies, much too loudly. “I just, …I owe him, you know? And I can’t fight with a clear conscience until I’ve repaid him.”

He sighs, turning away. “Complicating things again.” He dematerializes slowly. “In that case, send for me when you have repaid this debt of yours.”

And he takes up his spot again, twenty meters ahead of the three, as Rin explains her indebtedness to Shirou. He and Saber are about to leave when a voice pierces the night.

“So, are you done chatting?”

An innocent voice from an innocent girl, with a behemoth of black muscle behind her; both standing silently and soundlessly behind them as though they’d been there all along. Archer instinctively reaches for Rin in his mind, and as he does he can feel her do the same.

“Berserker,” Rin murmurs.

And Archer remembers another fragment of his long-gone past—

“Good evening, Onii-chan,” Illya says to Shirou. “This is the second time we’ve met like this.”

He knows who she is, even before she introduces herself to Rin and Saber—Illyasviel von Einzbern, the Einzbern homunculus, daughter of Irisviel and Kiritsugu. His adoptive sister, whom he had grown to love, who had died five months after his Grail War.

Her death had been the first in an endless string of deaths he actively fought against but happened anyway, in the most brutal way possible: right as he’d grown to love her as family. It was the first crack in a belief he thought infallible. The first time his ideal had betrayed him.

But now she is an enemy, the most powerful Master with the most powerful Servant. Berserker, the only Servant who could hurt Saber—

He remembers with ringing clarity the horror he’d felt, looking at Saber bleeding from the stomach, so easily hurt by Berserker. But when Emiya Shirou used a Command Spell to stop Saber from attacking him, everything changed. Now, he is here, he can help—Saber doesn’t have to get hurt. His willingness to fight roars through his bond with his Master, and she recoils a little.

“That thing outclasses even Saber,” Rin murmurs, as if to warn him.

“It’s terrifying,” he agrees. “That Servant could face the other six single-handedly.”

“Which means this isn’t an opponent we can beat with brute force. ...Archer.” Rin speaks with renewed purpose, and all the mana in his body responds. “This calls for your class’s primary fighting style.”

Offensive power from a safe distance away. She’s right—the best way he can help this fight is from afar. He prepares to leave. “Then what about defense? I doubt you could take one of his charges head-on.”

Illya turns to look at them with the grin of someone who was assured victory. Rin grits her teeth, and sizes up her allies.

“There are three of us,” Rin decides. “At the very least, we’ll be able to fend him off.”

“Understood.” He would have to trust her on this—he needs time to get to a suitable spot and prepare his weapons. He leaps away and readies his Magic Circuits. Unbeknownst to Rin, he knows that Saber has a decent chance against Berserker if she puts everything she had into defense.

_On my word,_ Rin says, clearer and louder in his mind, amplified by adrenaline. He projects a bow and readies his swords as he runs; focuses his senses on the Servant energy near his Master, the golden light in his peripheral—

_Now!_

He turns around on his heel and fires, red blades showering an area far away. Almost immediately, Rin reports, with much surprise— _no effect—_

He keeps running. From what he can tell, it seems Saber engages him in a swordfight, and Berserker keeps up with her. He focuses on scaling the tallest building he can immediately see, and he arrives on the bridge right on time.

_Archer, fire support!_

“He’s less a frenzied warrior and more an embodiment of savagery,” he muses conversationally, readying his bow. “He may be mad, but his ingrained swordsmanship hasn’t left him.” He pulls on the bowstring, and fires one shot. From his viewpoint, he can see the impact on Berserker’s body, and once the smoke clears—no effect. He tsks.

Saber reengages him in close combat, but even from a mile away he can see that Berserker is about to overwhelm her. Rin rushes forward—

_Fire when my gems land!_

—and throws what looks like tiny purple gemstones at Berserker. “Archer!” she calls, but he’s already firing; blue flames erupt from the reaction. The flames roar high, enough to cover the giant, but when they die down he still stands upright, unharmed.

This isn’t working, and Illya has the grace to point it out. Rin is running out of patience; he wills her to calm down.

A bolt of gold streaks out of the park and into the nearby cemetery near the woods, and Rin and Illya follow. He jumps across to the next set of buildings, trying to find a better vantage point, but the area is densely forested.

Rin stops in an area far from the two Servants, and for a split second he has to choose between his Master and the golden Servant. He stops in his tracks; if he feels two Servant energies, Saber is still holding up. On the other hand, he can’t stay in this world without his Master. He nocks an arrow and focuses on Rin; she’s struggling against Illya’s familiars. He steadies his aim, and fires.

He destroys two familiars, and Rin runs at once. For her to run must mean the fight is going badly; he checks in on her as she rests against a tree.

_Are you all right, Master? Or was my assistance unwelcome?_

Rin sighs, and says honestly, _No, you saved me, Archer. To be honest, my back was against the wall. So, where is Illyasviel?_

_My apologies, but visibility is poor in your area. I can sense where you are, but I cannot track enemy Masters._

_Figures. But seriously, what a monster!_ Rin protests. _How can she create familiars out of single hairs? That’s simply absurd!_

_So it would seem,_ he says agreeably. _You were right in trying to defeat Berserker’s Master first, but that seems no easy task. In which case…_

_We have no choice but to pin our hopes on Saber,_ Rin completes for him. Archer grits his teeth; he hopes she interprets it as his mistrust in Saber. _Stay put and watch the battlefield from above. I’ll meet up with Saber._

_Understood. Make sure you know when to retreat, Rin._

_Yeah, yeah,_ she says, brushing him off, already walking towards the two Servants.

Archer wants to fight Berserker head-on, to unleash Unlimited Blade Works to make him pay for ever _touching_ Saber in any capacity, or timeline—but that would be revealing his hand too early, for at least one person to understand the true nature of his Noble Phantasm and identity. His grip on his bow tightens, the only thing he could use at this distance.

Did he really just consider using his Noble Phantasm for Saber?

_I can’t do this,_ he thinks to himself. The plan is to kill Emiya Shirou. It is, and has always been, the end goal of his existence: the only thing that mattered. The only reason Saber should matter at all is the fact that she is his Servant, an obstacle to overcome.

Whatever remains of his feelings (his _love_ ) shouldn’t matter.

It is then that Rin arrives at the battlefield, Shirou following close by. Saber is barely holding on against Berserker, blood trickling down her forehead; his chest constricts but he pointedly ignores it. Saber readies her blade, and lunges forward—Berserker catches it, blindingly fast.

Shirou rushes forward, innocently wanting to protect his Servant… Archer makes up his mind.

_Get clear_ , he orders.

_Archer? What do you mean, ‘get clear?’_ Rin asks.

_That was magnificent, but it won’t be enough._ He projects Cadalbolg, the Helix Sword, his preferred projectile that ranked high enough to be a Noble Phantasm. The original weapon had enough power to raze cities, but he had modified the sword to condense that power to a much smaller radius, enough to overwhelm Berserker and hopefully catch Emiya Shirou in the process. Anyone else caught in the blast would be an unfortunate casualty.

_Anyone._

He nocks the blade, and fires.

Cadalbolg streaks through the city sky, a blinding line of white light that leads straight to the cemetery; the impact makes the cemetery burst in a ball of purple flame. A cloud of dust shoots up into the sky, fluttering down to the surrounding area, the heat wave from the shock barely visible from Archer where he stands, on top of a building miles away.

Without the warning he gave Rin, the boy couldn’t possibly have survived. He killed his former self and his— _Saber_ with one shot. A wicked grin splits his face; how fitting that his life would end in defiance of the very morals he worked so hard to uplift and betrayed him.

As the dust clears, it reveals an enormous crater in the ground. …And nothing has changed. Berserker stands as he always has, and Shirou and Saber crouch behind cover, safe and whole.

_The boy stays alive._

Disappointment and relief wash over him in equal parts, and he stands still, alone at the edge of the rooftop. His first attempt at taking Shirou’s life—his own life—failed. He didn’t hesitate to kill Saber… but wasn’t that what he wanted to be able to do?

_But she’s alive, too._

Vaguely he hears Illya compliment Rin about having him as a Servant, and she calls back Berserker to retreat. Saber calls worriedly to Rin, holding Shirou in her arms.

He feels detached, as though he was merely looking through his own eyes as someone else moved his body. Dimly he registers Rin calling him back; he leaps off the building.

Rin is in the middle of an argument with Saber when he lands.

“—not going to hurt him!” he hears Rin say, once he can focus enough to listen. “If I wanted you dead I could’ve had Archer shoot you dozens of times by now!”

“Your Archer fired at us,” Saber says, clutching Shirou’s unconscious body tighter to her own, both of them beaten and bruised and bloodied. “The only reason we did not get caught in the blast was because Shirou pulled us away.”

“You can barely walk, much less carry your Master home,” Archer interjects quietly, as he feels Rin’s frustration rise to critical levels.

Saber narrows her eyes at him. “I will not let you bring Shirou.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies coolly.

“Tell me, Saber, do you know how to take care of Shirou’s injuries?” Rin says, not unkindly. Archer glances down at her; she’s holding out a gem, a peace offering. “I did say I owe him a debt. I can heal you, and you bring him home, then I’ll patch him up. We can be even after this.”

Saber gives her a long, hard look, sizing her up. She looks at her Master, unconscious in her arms, then back at Rin—finally, she nods.

“I’ll call for you when I need you, Archer,” Rin says, without turning; green eyes flick towards him as he dematerializes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> valiant effort there, archer, you hopeless boy, you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I had no dream that went unfulfilled,” he says quietly, watching the surprise on Emiya Shirou’s face, that someone who got everything he wanted is so cynical, so jaded. “I fulfilled my dream, died, and became a Heroic Spirit.”

On the way back to the Emiyas’, Archer does the same thing he did when they walked to the Church: keeping careful guard over the way. After a grueling walk back, Rin and Saber patch up Shirou; Rin finds the first-aid kit with little fanfare, and is about to start dressing Shirou’s wounds when Saber points out how the cut on his back seems to be stitching itself together.

“Self-healing magic,” Saber murmurs in quiet surprise. “It is just like me.”

“Sharing your ability may have just saved his life,” Rin agrees, bandaging his arm. “Hand me those scissors, will you?”

Saber wordlessly passes her the scissors, her eyes never wavering from her Master’s injured profile.

Rin glances at her. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t dematerialize,” she muses, cutting away the excess gauze. “You’re going to need some ordinary clothes... Hmm, we’re about the same size, aren’t we?”

Saber blinks. “Ah. I think so?”

“Alright then,” Rin says, coming to a decision. “Archer?”

He materializes a careful distance away from the three of them. “Yes, Master.”

The smile on Rin’s face is saccharine. “Could you head back home and grab some clothes for Saber, please? There should be some in the closet next to my bed.”

“Rin,” he says pointedly, as another surge of mana pulls at him. “Do we need to have another discussion about what Servants are for?”

“No,” Rin says sweetly. Behind her, he sees the corners of Saber’s mouth twitch upward.

He looks away, and leaves.

\--

The closet is, predictably, full of clothes.

Too many clothes for one girl, he’s sure, and he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for or how to pick them out. Casual clothes for Saber to wear when she’s out of armor… a faint vision of a girl in a field picks at his memory, her white dress billowing in the wind.

He picks through hangers and hangers of dresses and jeans absently. Starting to get annoyed, he goes through the folded clothes at the bottom of the closet. He’s just started to resign himself to bringing the entire closet when he sees it: a white collared shirt with a blue ribbon tucked into it. It only takes a few more seconds of rummaging for him to find the matching blue skirt, simple and practical.

He doesn’t remember what she looked like wearing this. But he remembers how he’d marveled that Rin had clothes that matched the blue of her battle dress so precisely, the blue that made the green in her eyes look like the horizon, where the endless fields of grass meet the sky.

Archer takes the clothes and heads back to the Emiyas’.

\--

Rin gives him a weird look when he hands over the clothes, but this time he can’t even begin to think what he did wrong. “What is it?”

“This is a surprisingly good choice, is all,” she says loftily, holding up the clothes to inspect them. Her eyes aren’t on them though, but instead side-eyeing him, which he pointedly ignores. “Could it be that you picked clothes you wanted to see Saber wear?”

“It’s blue,” he says, like he can’t be bothered. “Her battle dress is blue. I thought it was appropriate.”

“Fair enough.” Rin laughs, and it’s the first time he hears the sound in a long, long time.

\--

He’s relegated to guard duty not long after, so he picks a spot on the roof, and lets his mind wander.

If anything, the fight with Berserker had proven that he is able to put aside his feelings in favor of his objective. But in the short time since the fight alone, he had gone off to the mansion and picked up casual clothes for Saber, the clothes he’d vaguely remembered her wear, the simple act sparking a deep-set nostalgia in him, the same kind that aches every time he sees her—

He exhales, willing himself to relax. It is apparent that lying to himself about his feelings for Saber is becoming counterproductive, especially after spending his Counter Guardian days _not_ forgetting. He would have to accept it ( _that he loved her_ ), and resign himself to the fact that he might have to kill her to get to Shirou.

But even having the thought sends a pang through his tin heart. He has to go about it another way—if he’s having trouble dealing with Saber, he should look for a situation in which he doesn’t have to.

On hindsight, the attempt on Shirou’s life alongside Berserker’s had not been very tactical, for the sole reason that Saber was there. If he was being honest with himself, he took the shot less in an attempt to kill Shirou and more to prove to himself that he was able to at all, even with Saber there.

And yet, on the other hand, Berseker had not died. Or, more accurately, Berserker had come out unharmed. It was highly unlikely that Cadalbolg, a Noble Phantasm-rank weapon, had been blocked by Berserker and not left any lasting impression, even with the level of magic resistance that Berserker had.

No—Berserker’s survival was due to something more deep-rooted than magic resistance: only a Noble Phantasm could stand up to another Noble Phantasm. A Heroic Spirit whose legend is built on endurance and perseverance, then, perhaps one who underwent trials designed to be impossible.

Archer makes a mental note to tell Rin about this later. He closes his eyes and lets his senses take over; in the compound below him he can feel Saber, the golden Servant energy, walking towards his Master.

“Get some sleep, Saber,” he hears Rin say.

“I must keep watch over Shirou,” Saber replies. “Until he is well, I cannot let my guard down.”

Rin sighs in exasperation. “Saber, you yourself aren’t well,” she says. “You just fought off Berserker! And I have Archer standing guard, there’s no need to worry.”

Saber must be tired, Archer thinks, because there’s no immediate response. Then she says, “Very well. Then I will sleep in the spot best suited to protect my Master—”

Archer both feels and hears Rin’s embarrassment, so potent that he himself blushes. He winces. “ _You can’t sleep in the same room as him_!”

“Why not?” comes the innocent question.

“You—you just can’t! It’s not proper!” Rin says in a higher voice than usual, the image of the perfect girl all but gone. Saber must not look like she understands, because Rin sighs and continues, “Look, if you set foot inside that room I will send Archer after you.”

_So protective,_ Archer tells her amusedly, ignoring her surprise that he was listening. _Aren’t you being a little obvious, Master?_

“Shut up, Archer,” he hears Rin say out loud. “Anyway, Saber, your Master’s safe. Go sleep, ah—somewhere else.”

 “But—”

_Archer, come down here,_ Rin says irritably. Obediently, Archer steps down the roof and lets himself fall slowly behind his Master, back turned to them, materializing all the way. It puts him in the exact spot one would need to be to guard the entrance to Shirou’s room. Behind him, he feels Rin still glaring at Saber, and Saber sizing him up.

Once he hears footsteps disappearing down the hall, he knows they’re done here; he sends Rin a ping of amusement that she huffily waves off.

\--

Rin wakes up very early the next morning, and the reason is beyond him at first until she grumpily asks him for some tea. Then he realizes: she wants to be alert and out of her not-a-morning-person mode before Shirou wakes up.

True to form, she throws open the door to Shirou’s room and sits a distance away from him. Right on cue, Shirou wakes up, and freaks out at the sight of her.

He half-listens to their conversation, Rin once again doing an amazing job lying about her feelings. When she steps out of Shirou’s room, he goes to hover by her side and says, _Are we finally going home, Master?_

She’s looking off into the distance as she answers. _We can’t return empty-handed, can we? I have to make amends for my blunder._

\--

As it turns out, making amends means continuing their investigation about the other participants of the Grail War, making up for the time they spent helping Shirou and Saber. She leads him to an old office building, where he detects trace amounts of mana. The news had reported a gas leak resulting in hundreds of deaths, but they both knew it was more than that.

The work is investigative, similar to preliminary stages of his work as a Counter Guardian. Check the extent of damage, if anything could be saved. Figure out what’s causing the problem. He hasn’t been thankful to do this kind of basic work in a long time.

Especially since his Master, his _partner_ , is competent enough on her own.

They’re walking along the third floor of the building when two small boar skeletons clatter on the ground, ready to pounce at Rin. He’s ready to materialize at a moment’s notice, but she simply raises her left hand and carefully fires two Gandr shots, one for each.

_Another one, behind you—_

Another skeleton, easily more than ten times as big as the other two, drops from the ceiling behind them. It barely has time to roar and charge before she obliterates it with another Gandr shot.

They keep walking through the office building soundlessly. He hears more clattering and skittering through the vents in the walls, but nothing else attacks them.

_You sure showed them, Master._

She doesn’t respond, but he can feel her quiet elation, and the small smile on her face.

They find the remains of about 50 people in the first office they check, which horrifies both of them in equal measure—the shock of seeing death never really wore off for him, even after eons of actively fighting against it. Rin grits her teeth and moves on.

\--

“The culprit behind the coma incidents is probably Caster,” Rin says, once they’ve retreated to the rooftop of a building. She learns fast; the height puts him at ease, able to monitor a much larger range with his senses.

“A witch inhabiting Ryuudou Temple, huh?” he drawls. “That means we made a mistake last night.”

“Fighting Berserker to a draw, you mean? I think that was the optimal outcome,” she replies, eyes on the city lights.

“I’m not so sure,” he says. “If Caster’s spread such a wide net, she must have observed last night’s battle. And we tipped our hand while failing to defeat our opponents.” _Or at least to kill Shirou,_ he adds to himself. The extent of Caster’s damage at the office building had been significantly potent for something that had been done at a distance; that could easily mean that Caster saw him project Cadalbolg as well.

“Perhaps.” Rin looks away, deep in thought. “We’ll track Caster. You can still sense her, right? We’ll put an end to this before she can flee to Ryuudou Temple.”

“I thought your policy was to avoid things that you know are beyond you,” he points out.

“It still is,” she replies, walking to the other side of the rooftop. “But don’t you think this is a special case?”

“You won’t be satisfied until you start a fight, huh?” Archer looks at her hair, swaying in the night breeze. As much as she might have feelings for Shirou, at this point all he can do is hope that they aren’t developed enough for them to get in the way. She herself said that she wanted to win the Grail War, and if it took killing Shirou to do it, he could only hope that she had the resolve, while hoping something similar for himself. He says something that both of them need to realize: “You’re ignoring an easily defeated opponent and going after the most difficult one.”

“It’s fine,” Rin says airily, not turning to him. “We can take him out whenever we want. I’m just choosing to ignore him as long as he stays hidden at home.”

He attacks the obvious opening. “Then what if Emiya Shirou comes to you, still choosing to ignore the fact that he is a Master?”

Silence. Then—

“I’ll kill him,” she says quietly. “I’ll show no mercy to anyone who doesn’t understand that.”

_That’s what I wanted to hear,_ he doesn’t say out loud, for fear that it would give too much away.

\--

Rin goes to school the next morning with her usual display of confidence, even after he tentatively follows her to the front door.

“You’re staying at home today, Archer,” she says, before he can say anything. “The barrier shouldn’t activate for a while, and I doubt there’s any harm in the meantime. Any complaints?”

“No, Master,” he replies obediently. “I just wanted to remind you of what we talked about last night.”

Rin’s cheeks color. “Of course I remember,” she says coolly, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be going now. Take care of the house, Archer.”

He manages to narrow his eyes at her before she turns to leave, waving over one shoulder. He dematerializes to conserve his mana, and waits.

The morning is relatively quiet, and he doesn’t realize that he’s been waiting for the pin to drop until Rin panics so much that he almost forgets she’s halfway across the city.

Emiya Shirou is in school, of course. Archer knew this from the beginning.

He focuses on her for the rest of the day, waiting for any spike of adrenaline, the thrill of the hunt. The boy has no chance against her if she fights unrestricted, but he has a feeling it would be a little optimistic to hope that she would do what she set out to do.

The moment doesn’t come until after school, when he feels the mana usage more strongly than her emotions. Gandr shots, he figures: basic magic to kill off a basic mage. There are ebbs and pauses in the usage of her magic, until at one point it halts completely. He waits for a word, and isn’t disappointed when her familiar presence is back in his head.

_Archer, I’m almost home. Take out the first aid kit from the basement, will you?_

He materializes in the basement at once. _Are you injured, Master?_

_No, I’m fine._ She’s silent long enough for him to assume the worst. _I have Emiya Shirou with me._

He sighs, making sure she feels it. It’s not like he didn’t expect it—but it doesn’t stop it from being frustrating. _And what reason have you to justify saving our most easily defeated opponent this time?_

_He saved my life again,_ she counters, a lot less sheepishly than he expected. Then, gaining confidence, she presses on. _Archer, I was attacked by a Servant while I was trying to kill Emiya-kun. He took a shot that was aiming for my_ head! _If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t still be here. I think that justifies my actions._

He pauses to think—there’s nothing he could say to contradict her without giving away his intentions. _Very well. I await your return, Master._

_That’s not all,_ Rin says. He feels her dread as she continues, _I’ve been thinking. That incident just now at school… it poses a threat to too many people, too many for me to comfortably take on this alone._

He knows what’s coming before she even says it, but he stays quiet and hopes she can feel what he does. _You want an alliance with the boy and his Servant_.

_Yes._ The answer is simple and immediate, defiant. _The other Master at school is a threat to the school itself. I would call it more of a truce than an alliance, until we can defeat this unknown Master and save the school._

It sounds like just another excuse to delay the death of the boy. _Just to be clear. This truce expires once this other Master is defeated?_

_Yes,_ she replies quickly, and he feels her relief that he’s accepted the plan.

_As long as that much is clear, then I will go along,_ he says dryly, making it clear what he intends after the truce expires. _Have you told him yet?_

_No, ah, we need to dress his wound first, then I need to tell him a few things. Leave the first aid kit in the living room. I don’t think it’ll look very good if—_

_Understood,_ he cuts her off. He sets down the first aid kit on the living room table, as well as a few gems, and dematerializes.

\--

The boy accepts the truce, of course. He stays until after the sun goes down to discuss relevant matters with Rin, such as the other Servant from school, the disappearances around the city, and eventually, the absence of his Magic Crest.

“He was always against my becoming a mage,” Shirou says, and it’s then that Archer begins to really listen to the conversation, invisible in the room.

“Isn’t that contradictory?” Rin asks, standing away from the couch.

“Maybe,” Shirou defers. “It always seemed like Dad only taught me because I refused to give up. In the end, he only taught me fortifying magic, so that’s all I can use.” Fortifying magic that would eventually evolve into projection magic, and the Reality Marble that he would create, Archer muses.

Rin sputters. “Hold on! Why would you tell me that?”

Shirou looks up at her. “Tohsaka?”

She slams down her teacup on its saucer. “Look, Emiya-kun, we might be partners for the time being, but mages should always keep their arts a secret.”

“What’s the point of hiding it now?” Shirou says, a little defensively. “Dad always said that magic isn’t something you should go out of your way to hide.”

“He really said that?” Rin murmurs in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Shirou continues. “I think he was trying to tell me not to let myself be bound by rules. He always said I should quit if I ever want to.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Rin says angrily. “Your father was no mage! And if he trained you, you’re no mage either in my eyes!”

“Why are you so upset?” Shirou asks. “I know I can’t call myself a mage, but my dad was the real deal.”

She walks forward, closer to Shirou, her anger reaching the boiling point. “That’s not what I mean. I’m trying to say… well...” Archer feels her breathe, and the memory of an afternoon spent at a deserted park, talking about belittling other people, comes back to him. Rin unclenches her right fist, and says in a much calmer tone, “Yeah, I do have a problem with your incompetence.”

Shirou looks up. “What can I do? My dad’s dead...”

“Yeah, that’s the inherent limit of a single mage. Mages never know when they’ll die, so they leave behind a Magic Crest,” Rin explains. “I was just angry at your father for not taking the proper steps to prepare. Magic is the culmination of lifetimes of work, handed down from parent to child for generation after generation. The instant a child is born into a mage family, that child inherits not only their legacy but also their duty. That’s the reason we’re born, and it’s what we die for.

“A mage family’s duty is to take the human child they gave birth to and turn it into something else over long years of rigorous training,” Rin says quietly. “That’s why your father was no mage, Emiya-kun. He put being a father ahead of being a mage.”

But that’s wrong, the other Emiya Shirou in the room protests. Kiritsugu might not have passed on a Magic Crest, but he passed on something just as powerful to a child that didn’t know any other happiness than the one on Kiritsugu’s face when he was pulled from the fire.

Kiritsugu might have put being a father ahead of being a mage, but what he really was to Emiya Shirou was a hero.

The room rings with silence. The younger Shirou opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again afterwards. Rin turns away, her face expressionless. “It's getting late,” she murmurs. “I’ll have Archer bring you home.”

Shirou glances unsubtly around the room, as if looking for him. “...Yes. Thank you for your hospitality, Tohsaka.”

Rin walks him to the front door, Archer following close behind them. _Have I been downgraded into an escort this time, Master?_

_You are to bring him home safely,_ Rin replies, ignoring him. _Don’t forget we’re allies now._

He looks at the boy, putting on his scarf, and what a perfect opportunity it would be to end him while walking him home. But Rin’s command echoes through him, so all he says is, _Yes, Master._

\--

The boy is wary as he walks, looking over his shoulder again and again, even though he should know at this point that Archer is invisible.

“This is far enough,” he says at last, at the gate in front of the compound.

He materializes. “Oh? You don’t need an escort, then?”

“I could do without one who wants to kill me,” Shirou says casually.

“You impress me,” Archer replies. “It seems you know enough to sense hostility, at least. Rin has ordered me to escort you peacefully, so I will refrain from attacking you.”

“Is that so? But if you want to go, I’m happy to take you on.” A bead of sweat forms on the boy’s forehead; the challenge would be laughable if it weren’t so pitiable. “I may be inexperienced, but I am still a mage.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Archer scoffs. “A mage who doesn’t reek of blood is worse than a novice.”

“You’re saying that I don’t have the smell of blood on me?”

“Mages are beings who become cold-blooded in order to achieve their goals. You should follow Tohsaka Rin’s example. She might have a soft spot or two,” _you being one of them,_ “but she has the proper mindset, despite her age.”

The boy has the gall to laugh. “It’s fortunate for you that Tohsaka’s your Master,” he says. “She’s your best shot at getting the Grail.”

Oh, he thinks this is all still about the Grail. “That malevolent treasure chest that can grant human wishes? I have no interest in such a thing.”

“...No interest?” Shirou asks, caught off guard. “Don’t Servants fight in this war to have a wish fulfilled that they couldn’t achieve in life?”

“Hardly. We’re summoned with no say in the matter. We Servants have no free will.” Without skipping a beat, he adds, “Your Saber is probably the only one who answers the call of her own volition.”

Shirou blinks in surprise. “Only Saber?”

“Yes. Heroic Spirits are called forth by other’s wills. We’re nothing more than disposable tools,” he drawls. “Do you honestly believe that, in our heart of hearts, we wish to help humans?”

“Well—”

“Listen. Heroic Spirits are mere instruments, tools summoned to aid the disadvantaged and disappear once their purpose is fulfilled.” Shirou’s eyes widen, and Archer’s not sure if he would have caught the gesture under normal circumstances. “They’re sweepers, stripped of their will and made to serve humans forever. That is what Heroic Spirits are. So-called ‘Guardians’ that are summoned when it’s convenient.”

“Instruments—what are you talking about?” Shirou says indignantly. “Saber is a person. If she doesn’t want to do something, she refuses, and I’m sure she can make her own decisions now that she’s here.”

“Possibly,” Archer concedes. “Being provided with a Servant’s shell in itself allows Heroic Spirits to regain their humanity. Along with old obsessions and regrets.” He gets the sense that he’s saying more than he should be letting on, but Rin isn’t here and the boy could never figure it out.

“Regrets?” Shirou asks.

“Put yourself in the shoes of those who died with unfinished business, only to find themselves brought back by a human to do their bidding—all because they seek the Grail,” Archer says.

Shirou's brows knit together. “Then why aren’t you interested in something so powerful?”

“I had no dream that went unfulfilled,” he says quietly, watching the surprise on Emiya Shirou’s face, that someone who got everything he wanted is so cynical, so jaded. “I fulfilled my dream, died, and became a Heroic Spirit.”

It was no lie that he fulfilled his dream before dying—what he doesn’t say is that it was _because_ he fulfilled his dream that he died. His ideal betrayed him, humanity turned on him despite everything he did.

“So I have no wish I want granted,” he murmurs, turning away. What he wants isn’t a wish—it’s a result, better brought about by his own hand rather than some magical entity.

And his wish isn’t attainable right now, with the explicit command of his Master, so without turning to look at the boy, he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've decided to write more detailed [author's notes on tumblr](http://bio-at.tumblr.com/tagged/familiar%20blood) if people want to check that out; i love talking about archer as well as the decisions that went into writing this fic that i thought i might as well share!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You, too, are captivating,” Assassin murmurs, and Archer realizes he’s also referring to Saber. “And as I told that golden flower—to find a worthy opponent is a rare thing. You, on the other hand, are more like a hedgehog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter today! caster's arrival does take a lot of attention.

“Archer, I’m hoome,” Rin says from the doorway.

“Oh, are we being domestic now?” Archer materializes in the living room couch, one leg crossed over the other. She walks into the room, bag slung over her shoulder. He stands and walks over to her, ignoring her glare and putting on a sardonic smile. “Welcome home then, Master.”

“Just being customary,” Rin grumbles, letting him slide off her coat. She turns away her face, though, so he counts that as a victory. “Everything quiet at home?”

“Nothing of interest to note,” he says.

“Alright. Let me tell you about my day, then.” Rin sits down on the couch, crossing her legs and looking up at him. “A student went missing at school.” Her expression doesn’t shift from her usual mild confidence, but he feels a rush of indignance that someone dared involve civilians in her district. “I’m almost certain it’s the doing of another Master.”

“It would be safe to assume that there are at least two other unknown Masters around,” Archer says, nodding. “Caster, and this other Master from your school. Having met Lancer and Berserker, that leaves us with either Rider or Assassin.”

“That’s what I thought too,“ says Rin. “We need more information before we do anything, though. Emiya-kun and I went around after school looking for the sigils for the barrier. I was able to weaken them, but it should be immediately obvious to whoever set it up that we’re after them.”

Archer hums. “It’s highly likely that they’ll retaliate soon.”

“Yes, probably sometime tomorrow,” Rin agrees, her eyes steely. “Be ready, Archer.”

\--

Whenever Rin is asleep, Archer stays dematerialized, with all his senses peeled for any sign of nearby magical activity. Masters are at their most vulnerable at moments like this, so it falls to him to be vigilant on her behalf. Conversely, this also holds true for Shirou—but Saber would be equally protective of her Master, and she would not be so much of a fool as to leave him unguarded. So he stays on the outskirts of the mansion, in comfortable range to keep Rin in check, but also able to monitor the surrounding area.

The city is quiet, as it is during the day. But tonight he feels a foreboding, a looming pressure over the city. He looks toward Ryuudou Temple, where he and Rin had guessed Caster currently resides, and reflects on how many lives the Servant has already taken.

The logical thing to do would be to go after Caster to minimize unnecessary casualties—that much, he and Rin agreed on. But with a stab of pragmatism he thinks of Berserker, how even Saber could barely stand up to him. With the amount of mana that Caster must have by now and the rate of collection, it wouldn’t be long before they could face off even against Berserker... the obvious answer stares him in the face.

 _Sacrifice the few to save the many,_ he thinks bitterly. _There it is again._

A silver glint, as if from moonlight shining off of armor, distracts him from his musings. His first thought is that of the golden Servant clad in blue and silver, and instinctively he knows he’s right—Saber is headed towards Ryuudou Temple.

Archer follows immediately. Saber wouldn’t go anywhere without reason. Shirou must have gone to the temple somehow—the temple where Caster is.

He catches up to Saber at the temple boundary, dematerialized, watching her reach out to touch a bush. A shock of red magic bursts from her hand, repelling her from entry. A barrier that repels Servants to protect a Servant—there must still be a way in.

He turns right and scans the wall for a break in the barrier, and he finds one right up the main steps. Cautiously, he speeds up the steps, until he spots a man clad in a kimono sitting right at the temple gate. He stops in his tracks.

At once he knows that this man is a Servant—and from the way Archer can’t feel any sign of magical presence from him, this was most likely the Assassin-class Servant. Invisible, he stops, and Assassin perfectly tracks his movements, as if he knows exactly where Archer is. Unbidden, Assassin stands up, adjusting the longsword strapped to his back.

Behind him, he hears Saber running up the stairs. Assassin’s eyes flick to her, and he sees his chance—he dashes past Assassin into the temple, and there’s a moment where he expects an attack to come, but none does. Leaving Saber to deal with him, he jumps to a nearby roof to look for any sign of trouble.

Shirou and Caster are in the courtyard, the former tied up by invisible threads holding him in place, one arm extended towards Caster. His Command Spell arm—

The boy cannot die so soon, and not by his own hand. Archer projects a bow; the boy screams with the agony of one having his nerves ripped from his body. He aims, and rains down hundreds of arrows that cut down the threads holding the boy in place and make Caster step back.

“I expected to find you long dead, but it seems you’re more tenacious than I’d thought,” he calls out to the boy.

Shirou blinks and turns towards his voice. “You!”

Archer jumps off of the roof and lands smoothly between Caster and Shirou, ignoring the boy’s stare. “What? I was just passing by.” He glances at him and sees no more restraints. “So? Are you able to move now? My arrows should have severed Caster’s threads.”

“Yes, I can.” Shirou moves his arm, flexes his hand, his Command Spells still intact.

“As much as I would like to say ‘do what you want’, I suggest you stay where you are for now. If you act without thinking—”

“You are Archer?” Caster interrupts, with a groan of frustration. “Damn that Assassin! What is he doing?”

He smirks. “See? She’ll take her anger out on you. A woman’s fury is difficult to control.” He opens his eyes and takes a look at her, the mana pulsing around her and the very air of the temple. “Really. I think things are about to get a bit violent.”

Caster turns to him like a whip; before she can say anything, he says, “Don’t be so angry at Assassin, Caster. He faces Saber. I don’t know who that samurai is, but he must be a master swordsman indeed to hold Saber at bay. Shouldn’t you be complimenting him instead?”

Caster scoffs. “Surely you jest. I could hardly consider him a hero if he failed to stop the likes of you. That man lacks the skill to call himself a master swordsman.”

He considers this. “From what you’ve said, your Masters work together?”

“Work together?” Shirou asks behind him.

“Yes. Assassin guards the gate, and Caster lurks within. Isn’t it obvious that the two of them are allies? It isn’t particularly unusual,” he muses. “For example, you and Rin have also joined forces.”

Caster laughs, her voice high in the night. “Me? Work with that dog? With Assassin, who is no more than my pawn?”

Archer raises an eyebrow. “Your pawn?”

“Yes—that dog has no Master of his own, so to speak,” Caster says coyly, and he realizes what she means.

“Caster!” he growls, ignoring the boy. “You broke the rules!”

“What is wrong with a mage such as myself summoning a Servant?” Caster says innocently.

Realization dawns on Shirou. “Caster summoned Assassin? You’re saying that a Servant summoned another Servant?”

“That gatekeeper there, not summoned by a proper Master, is not the true Assassin,” he confirms. “She broke the rules and summoned an Assassin-class Servant herself. Establishing this as her territory, she harvests souls from people in the city. She herself doesn’t fight but rather monitors the battle through eyes she placed throughout town. The three knight classes, including Saber, are less susceptible to magic. It’s only natural for a  magic-user class such as yourself to resort to underhanded tactics.” He watches her laugh to herself, not confirming or denying anything. He switches track, to one obvious missing piece of the puzzle. “But you chose to do this on your own, didn’t you, Caster?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Masters are mages too,” he says simply. “Anyone who summoned a mage more powerful than themselves would be on guard, even with Command Spells. Given that, it’s hard to believe a Master would let you summon a Servant to obey you. In which case, I can imagine you’ve long since made a puppet of him, like this fool of a Master behind me.”

“Winning the Holy Grail War would be a simple matter,” Caster brags. “My considerable efforts are directed toward what comes after.”

“Oh? You say it would be simple to defeat us?” His voice sinks dangerously low, his annoyance apparent. “You, a witch who does nothing but slink in the shadows?”

She grits her teeth. “Yes. In this place, you may not so much as scratch me. I shall mete out an appropriate punishment upon those who would call me a witch.”

“Hm, not even a scratch, you claim?” That sounded like a challenge he was more than willing to take. “One blow, then. If that is not enough, I shall leave the rest to Saber.” It was her job to protect the boy, after all, not his—but he isn’t leaving without a show.

He readies his Magic Circuits, then runs at her while projecting Kanshou and Bakuya—

She’s on the ground after a feint and a blow to the back. That should teach her better than to challenge one of the knight classes while standing five meters away—

The body behind him dissolves in a cloud of purple dust. “Too bad, Archer,” says her voice, from up in the sky, and he raises his arms to block the beam of concentrated magical energy.

Caster is flying in the sky, twenty meters off the ground, her cape spread about her like a luminous bat. Magic circles surround her, inscribed in languages so archaic that even he can’t recognize, ready to cast complicated, powerful magic. But he has seen magic in many forms, in his endless years of fighting, and there is a very specific branch of magic left over that he hasn’t seen—magic that is supposed to be impossible, even with an infinite amount of resources.

“Spatial transportation? Innate time control?” he says. “Within this territory, you can imitate True Magic? You impress me, Caster.”

“And you disappoint me, Archer,” she says loftily. “I sought to test you, thinking you might be useful, but you are worse than Assassin.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” he says dryly. “If I get another chance, I’ll try harder to live up to your expectations.”

He sees the magic circle light up before it fires off; it’s easy to jump out of harm’s way and into the air. Her mouth opens in shock, but aims accordingly and continues to fire without restraint.

“You vixen,” he says, properly recognizing her home advantage. “You have a huge store of mana to draw on, don’t you?”

He lands and runs for the gate; he’d gotten in his one blow. It’s Saber’s turn to save her own damn Master. A beam fires past him and the ground in front of him explodes in a burst of magical energy; he skids to a stop.

“Do you think you can escape?” Caster’s magic circles adjust slightly and fire at him, he dodges them all, making full use of Mind’s Eye.

And then he sees one of them turn back to the courtyard, away from him—

“That imbecile!”

Without thinking, he dematerializes and reappears right behind Shirou, already jumping off the ground as he grabs the back of Shirou’s shirt, a beam of pink light obliterating the ground where Shirou was barely half a second ago. He lands on a nearby roof, dangling him off the edge.

The boy has the gall to struggle. “Put me down, you idiot! What are you _thinking_?!”

“The hell if I know!” Archer yells, growing more annoyed. “And hearing you of all people say that makes me feel really stupid, you idiot!”

“Idiot?! If you know you’re being stupid, then what right do you have to call other people idiots? _Idiot_!‘

Archer growls. Didn’t he understand that he’d be dead without him? “What are you, a child? If you’re both an idiot and a child, you’re a lost cause. Pick one and stick with it, numbskull!”

“ _What did you say to me?_ ”

He hears Caster’s magic and jumps off instinctively, still holding Shirou, mitigating some of the worse blows with one sword. He lands on both feet, still avoiding shots, when Shirou yells, “Put me down, damn it! I can handle this myself!”

He blinks. “Is that so?”

He can’t help himself—he throws up the boy in the air and kicks him to the side, his body making a satisfying noise as he skids across the gravel. The boy is safer away from him anyway, it’s him Caster wants—

His vision blurs for a second before his arms and legs are forced down to his sides, his head made to look up at the Servant in the sky through a pink haze. A containment field of some kind, magic on the surface, probably freezing the space inside—

“How does that feel, Archer? Even the three knight classes cannot move if space itself is immobilized.” Caster smiles to herself; but that’s all he needed, the confirmation of the nature of the spell. She continues to gloat as he projects Avalon inside of him, the essence of the king with the highest magic resistance, amplifying his own. It becomes enough to be able to ready his magic circuits and project the twin swords.

_Trace, on._

“What was that, Archer? If you wish to beg for your life, I can—”

“Imbecile! I said ‘dodge this’, Caster!”

He moves against the bubble and throws the twin swords at her, breaking her concentration enough that the bubble breaks. He jumps and dodges the beam that she fires at him; he projects a bow as he lands on the ground, then projects Cadalbolg and aims it at Caster’s heart—

And right here, in this moment, he _could_ kill her. If he were thinking of the Grail War, she is easily one of the more problematic, if not difficult opponents. But he thinks again of her enormous store of mana, her defined territory over Ryuudou Temple, her prodigious magical skill and knowledge that extended to summoning another Servant—she could be of use in the future.

“ _I am the bone of my sword_ —”

He exhales. All it takes is to aim the Helix Sword a degree off; he fortifies the sword further, charging it with blinding blue-white light.

“ _Cadalbolg!_ ”

She summons a shield, but it’s nothing to the sword that shatters it; Caster is hit head-on with a mighty explosion. She falls to the ground with a sickening crunch, bloodied and bruised, like a fallen bird shot out of the sky.

Caster stays immobile on the ground, but he hears her ragged breathing. Slowly, she sits up amidst the rubble. “Archer, why do you not finish me off?”

“I said I would test you with a single blow, did I not?” he says offhandedly.

She groans pathetically; a burst of red mana hastens to heal her. “You don’t intend to kill me, then?”

“My objective was this boy,” he says truthfully. “My policy is to avoid unnecessary fighting.”

Shirou begins to object, but Caster cuts him off with a peal of laughter. “Is that so? You two are quite alike, then.”

His mind short-circuits. “Huh?”

“That boy cannot abide a Servant like me who feeds on the innocent. And _you_ dislike senseless slaughter. See? You’re practically identical.”

“How am I anything like this jerk?” Shirou retorts immediately.

“Agreed,” he grumbles, relaxing minutely; Caster had no idea what she just said. “I admit we may both be pacifists, but that is for entirely different reasons.”

“You call yourself a pacifist? You think I’d forget that you tried to destroy Saber along with Berserker?” Shirou says, outraged.

“That was before we struck an alliance,” he says, ignoring the pounding in his chest; how could he forget, indeed. “Surely you don’t expect me to try and save everything in sight. If you follow that reasoning, even Berserker would be something to save, not defeat.”

Caster laughs again, now fully healed and standing upright. “I _like_ you two! Your powers and personalities are unique. Join forces with me. I have the means to put an end to this war.”

“Never! I refuse to work with people like you,” Shirou answers immediately. Archer keeps his eyes on Caster, considering her offer. “Damn it, Archer! Hey!”

As strong as she is, it doesn’t seem right to join her. His Master is still easily the most powerful, and most trusted, ally he has. “I’ll pass,” he says quietly, after a beat. “Your team has limited fighting potential. No matter how much power you gain, you are no match for Berserker. What you offer isn’t enough for me to ally myself with you.”

“I see. Looks like we have ourselves a breakdown in negotiations,” Caster says amiably.

“We do. Besides, I’ve come here of my own volition,” he agrees. “My Master did not send me, so I have no reason to kill you. Shall we call this a draw due to injury?”

“Hey!” Shirou hisses at him.

“I’m surprised,” Caster says, ignoring him. “Your Master has been hunting me, has she not? And yet you would let me go?”

He forces himself to think of Berserker. “Yes. It is no concern of mine how many you kill here.”

“My goodness. What a callous man you are.” With one last smile, her cape unravels behind her, and she dashes up to hover in the air.

“Wait a minute, Caster!” Shirou runs toward her pointlessly; Caster dematerializes in the air. Quietly, he says, “Archer, why did you let Caster go?”

“Even if I’d struck her down, she would have simply made her escape.” The thought had crossed his mind; besides, they didn’t have all the information yet. “To defeat Caster, we must get to her Master.”

“But all the incidents in town are her doing. The victims will keep piling up until we stop her,” Shirou says doggedly.

 _The victims will keep piling up whatever I do_ , he doesn’t say. “On the contrary, I want to let her continue.” Shirou turns back to him with anger in his eyes; he continues, “Caster will keep draining people of their life force and use that power to defeat Berserker. Then we’ll deal with Caster afterward.”

“Tohsaka would never do that!”

“You’re right, which is why I’d like Caster to settle matters as soon as possible,” Archer begins, and he’s surprised at how even his voice is, explaining this to Shirou. “I don’t know how many will die, but humans are mortal, after all. However they die, and at whose hands, the end result is the same.” It’s a harsh lesson he learned early on in his Guardian days, and one of the things that began to break him; it would do well to make Shirou realize it too. “Caster is a fool. She should have taken their lives while she had the chance. It would be easier to fight if everyone in the city was dead already.”

“You—!”

He catches the fist and twists Shirou’s arm, and it’s so pathetic, how it’s almost mindless for him to block the attack. “I thought we had an alliance,” he says, once the boy stops stumbling.

“Don’t give me that! I’m nothing like you,” Shirou spits. “I would never sacrifice those around me to achieve victory or a goal!”

“I feel the same way, Emiya Shirou,” Archer agrees. “But it is impossible to save everyone. If Caster wins the Grail, the damage won’t be limited to this city alone. If we should fall, far more people will die. Therefore, the only choice is to sacrifice this city’s people. If that ends up minimizing the overall losses, then it’s in line with your ideology.” The fires from his memory seem to roar louder with every word, as if in agreement, or protest. “You said you didn’t want to involve innocent people, didn’t you? Then admit it. If you try to avoid killing anyone, you won’t save anyone in the end.”

He hears his footsteps approaching; he turns around to Shirou glaring at him, past him—he holds out an arm. “You plan to go after Caster? Do you mean to waste that life I took such pains to sa—”

“Shut up!” the boy yells. “I wouldn’t want your help, even if you offered!”

“I see.” He readies his Magic Circuits. “Your dislike of me makes this easier.” He projects Kanshou, and turns to slice at Shirou with it—

Then, several things happen all in quick succession. Kanshou cuts through Shirou’s back, but not as deeply as he wants, due to the boy dodging at the last second. A deep feeling of wrongness envelops what seems to be his entire existence, as if the universe had just realized how serious he is about erasing himself from it.

Finally, from miles away, he feels his Master wake up from a deep sleep.

He breathes to stabilize himself; when he opens his eyes, the boy has crawled to the edge of the temple steps, blood trailing after him. He looks helpless, innocent, still blindly believing in his ideal—an ideal he would have to break. “Emiya Shirou, if there is no meaning to your fight, then die here. Fighting for others but not yourself is nothing but hypocrisy. It isn’t victory that you want,” he tells himself quietly. “It’s peace. Unfortunately for you, there’s no such thing.”

The boy looks back at him, blood trickling from the edge of his mouth. “What?”

“Farewell. Let your ideals drag you to your death.” He swings the white sword at him, not intending to wound; he knocks him back down the stairs of the temple, where Saber should be with Assassin.

Shirou falls into Saber’s arms almost immediately, the wounded Master in the arms of his Servant once more. Once again he’s reminded forcibly of the fight against Berserker, and Shirou’s belief that he had wanted to kill Saber—

He jumps into the air. Angry at himself for missing his chance to kill the boy, angry that he would think that he’d hurt her at all—

A long, thin sword blocks his attack, and behind Assassin, Saber’s eyes widen in shock. He ignores the twist in his chest, and says to Assassin, “You stand in my way, samurai?”

“I should ask you the same. You would interfere after I allowed them to leave?” Assassin asks, kneeling in front of the golden Servant and her Master. “My duty is to guard this gate. I permitted entry, but egress is another matter. Your head lacks elegance, but I shall satisfy myself by claiming it tonight.”

Archer grits his teeth. “You think you can fight me, Caster’s lackey?”

“I could say the same,” Assassin says, standing up. “I sent you to give the vixen a scare, so imagine my disappointment to see you flee for your life.”

He spins around Bakuya as he lunges forward, closing the distance between them before Assassin can blink. Assassin blocks his blow easily, and their swords clash and dance with a speed and agility befitting a master swordsman—

The longsword is more than double the length of both Kanshou and Bakuya combined, and it blocks the combined attacks easily. Even with Archer’s initial height advantage, Assassin holds his ground. He realizes this only when he lands on even ground with him, and Assassin kicks off in a spin to hit him, forcing him to deflect with Bakuya—

This Servant had fought Saber into a standstill. Conventional swordfighting techniques would not be enough; he would have to do something else. But what, he could not think of.

Dimly he registers that Saber and Shirou have left. With a growl, he locks Assassin’s sword with both of his own; metal scrapes against metal as Assassin struggles against him. “Your protectorate has left, Assassin,” he says. “Unhurt, I might add. I could have gone after them, and yet I did not.”

“Oh? Are you asking for mercy? At least do it properly. My name is Sasaki Kojiro,” Assassin says pleasantly, tipping his head slightly. To reveal his true name so easily while their swords were locked together—a small part of Archer can appreciate that. “It’s a pleasant surprise to meet two swordsmen on par with me in the space of an hour. Well, _nearly_ on par.”

Assassin disengages, so fluidly that Archer knows he was just playing along. He jumps to avoid an attack aimed at his legs, and at the height of his jump he sees Assassin take a stance—

It reminds him of Lancer, and of Saber, holding their Noble Phantasms and imbuing it with mana. Even right in front of Assassin, he doesn’t feel the shift in magical energy, but he knows he would die if he were to land in that line of attack—

He projects a spear in midair, stabbing it into the ground, preventing him from falling further.

“ _Tsubame Gaeshi!_ ”

The single longsword draws three lines across the projected spear, cutting it cleanly into four pieces. A sword technique that would have been unavoidable, had he landed on the ground facing Assassin. He lets the pieces of the spear disintegrate, and his feet touch the step—

Suddenly there’s a searing pain across his back, like being branded with white hot iron. He staggers on his landing, and looks up at the face of Assassin, who looks notably less amused.

“I’m surprised,” he says quietly, his eyes devoid of any charming glint that had been there before. “You managed to avoid it.”

Blood trickles down the flesh of his back, as if begging to differ. “That was quite impressive,” Archer says evenly. “Three simultaneous strikes with one sword? I’ve never heard of quite a feat.”

“It is a technique I developed over a long time, with much practice,” Assassin says, putting away the longsword behind his back. “A single move to slay a swallow, with three arcs to cover all possible points of escape. But you have not evaded it, nor have you died.” Assassin continues to look down at him with an air of curiosity. “You, too, are captivating,” he murmurs, and Archer realizes he’s also referring to Saber. “And as I told that golden flower—to find a worthy opponent is a rare thing. You, on the other hand, are more like a hedgehog.”

Archer stands back up, letting his swords disappear, not rising to the teasing. “You are allowing me to leave?”

Assassin opens his arms wide, as if to indicate his vulnerability. “I have had my fill of fighting for tonight.”

The wound on his back still bleeding profusely, he stares at Assassin. But the samurai just folds his hands into his kimono, tilting his head minutely towards the bottom of the stairs.

Needing no more encouragement, Archer leaves.

He dematerializes at the bottom of the stairs to the temple, then hurries the rest of the way home. Once he’s close enough to the mansion, he reaches for Rin with his mind, hoping it’s enough. He hears the window to her room open, and the accompanying voice, too loud in the quiet night: “ _Archer!_ ”

 _Rin,_ he says carefully, entering through the window, even though he knows she’s felt by now that he’s been fighting. _You’ll excuse me for not materializing for the moment. As you can tell, I’ve been hurt._

“I have been worried _sick!_ ” Rin says angrily, no worry in her voice whatsoever, but their bond thrumming with it. She rummages distractedly through her drawers. “You materialize this instant and show me the damage. I can hasten your healing.”

He steels himself before materializing, sitting on the edge of the dresser. His back is turned to the mirror, and he sees Rin’s eyes drawn to the reflection of the long cut on his back, bleeding profusely.

She gasps, clutching spare gems in her hand. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was close to tears. With a carefully blank voice she says, “On the bed, now. And I order you to tell me what happened.”

He half-collapses onto the bed, head turned to the side, hissing at the stabs of mana from her. She picks at the area around the wound; he takes pity on her and lets the red shroud and his upper body armor disappear. She gasps again, this time a sound so small that his chest tightens.

“I came from Ryuudou Temple,” he begins, as Rin assesses the damage. “I have confirmed that Caster resides there, and she has indeed been behind the mysterious deaths around town. She has huge stores of mana available at her disposal, amplified by the natural inclination of the land, and with this magic she has summoned an Assassin-class Servant.”

“What?” Rin’s hands pause on his back. “She broke the rules!”

“With that much mana, she seems to feel like she can do anything,” Archer agrees. “It was her Assassin that wounded me on my way out.”

Rin presses her hands more firmly to his back, and he feels her imbue his wound with mana. It starts to feel marginally better, as if she’d sped up the healing by a few days. Rin absentmindedly lets her hand linger on his back, as if to placate him. “You fought Assassin? What was he like?”

Archer sits up slowly. “His true name is Sasaki Kojiro,” he begins. “Unlike other Servants, he gives his name willingly. He got me with an attack that seemed to slice the air three times simultaneously. Caster seems to have made up for the mana requirement to summon a Servant by calling on the natural magic of Ryuudou Temple’s land. I think Assassin was summoned as a gatekeeper—he should be unable to leave the boundaries of the temple.”

Rin nods. “Your said ‘on your way out’? Why were you there in the first place?”

If he were paying attention, he would have been able to see his Master avert her eyes from her Servant, still nonchalantly naked from the waist up. “I had sensed that Emiya Shirou might be there, and I was right,” he says carefully. “Caster seems to have brought him there somehow, and attempted to take his Command Spells. I stopped her before she could.”

“Emiya-kun, huh.” A hint of sleepiness seeps into Rin’s voice, as though sensing that the worst was over. “So he’s alright? Was Saber there too?”

“Saber was held up by Assassin at the temple gate. He let me in, but fought me on the way out. Hence the wound.” He hesitates for a split second, considering her other question. “Emiya Shirou was wounded.”

Rin turns to look at him. “Oh? But I thought you fought off Caster?”

“I did fight her off.” He keeps his eyes trained forward. “I was the one who wounded the boy.”

He feels her disbelief and anger like a flood, but she’s silent for a moment. She would know he felt that; she looks at him as though daring him to react. “Why would you do that, Archer?” Rin finally says, and it would affect him more, if it didn’t directly contradict what he set out to do.

“He said he did not want my help, even if I offered,” he explains, although he knows there’s no way to reason himself out of this without telling the whole truth. “He seems to forget that you and I are Master and Servant—”

“That’s not the _point!_ ” Rin gets on her feet, moving to stand in front of him. She’s barely intimidating, and he’s still taller than her, even though he’s sitting down. “I don’t know what it is between you and Emiya, but if it’s going to get in the way like this I’m going to have to take drastic measures!” She holds out her right arm. “ _Anfang!_ ”

He stands up. “Master— ”

She glares at him, her mind already made up, the second ring of her Command Spell glowing in anticipation. “Do you have anything more to say for yourself, Archer?”

Their bond pulses with mistrust; it feels like a vise around his heart. He says nothing; and instead remembers his goal as if to brand it into his mind.

_Kill Emiya Shirou._

“I forbid you from hurting Emiya Shirou and his Saber in any way, shape or form, for as long as our alliance stands,” Rin says calmly.

_Escape from this pointless existence._

Mana bursts from around Rin to engulf him. She had at least made her Command specific this time, as opposed to the first one. He sees her shiver from the strength of it—so much magic so soon after waking up, must be a shock to her body.

The Command settles, and they look at each other for a moment, each trying to read the emotions through their bond. Hurt echoes back and forth, with a little bit of guilt, and once again he can’t distinguish his feelings from hers.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Rin says quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, Master,” he murmurs, dematerializing.

\--

Rin barely sleeps that night; he can feel her ebb in and out of consciousness. Her mental presence is the equivalent of having her back turned to him; unable to leave, she simply ignores him. He makes no effort to apologize; he is not sorry for what he did. Emiya Shirou would have been wounded much worse, if he had his way.

But his Master’s grumpiness is a problem. As long as she had his Command Spells, she is his Master, and his anchor to existence. It would be much easier for both of them to cooperate, to be on better terms with each other.

He checks to make sure that she's still in bed, before going down to the kitchen.

\--

Rin enters as he’s cracking eggs into a pan, stopping dead in the doorway. “What’s all this?” she says, looking around in surprise.

He turns to look at her, careful to keep his expression neutral, as though it wasn’t unusual for him to be nonchalantly cooking in an apron at 7 in the morning after a fight. “Breakfast.”’

“You can _cook_?”

He raises both eyebrows at her, before turning back to flip the eggs. She squints her eyes at him, before walking over to the other pan, where he’s refrying rice, and taking a sniff.

“That smells delicious...” she murmurs sleepily, looking back at him again. “What did you add?”

“Butter, garlic, and onion.” He keeps his eyes on the egg. “I went through some of your potion supplies, I hope that’s alright.” He switches pans and stirs the rice, serving it on a plate, avoiding Rin’s eyes.

“That’s alright,” she says quietly, briefly touching his arm before leaving to set the table.

Breakfast has the intended effect; the atmosphere in the mansion is much less tense than the night before. By the time she’s drinking her tea, she’s chatting more happily than she’d been since he was summoned.

“I haven’t had a breakfast like that in a long time,” she says. “I guess that’s what happens when you live alone.”

“Good thing you eat enough for two,” Archer quips, and Rin smacks him in the arm, and for that moment it feels like everything is back to normal.

\--

Rin leaves for school after telling him to wash the dishes again. It hardly seemed fair to leave all the household chores to him, even if she kept bringing up that he was her Servant. Even so, cleaning up was always routine to him, a natural extension of his ideal.

Well, if she was going to leave him with that everyday…

He spends the rest of the day picking through the various rooms of the mansion, looking through old drawers and finding various ancient documents, sealed magically by the Tohsakas, he assumes. He finds old clothes, some for a support staff, and wondered if Rin ever had a helper. He finds a white feather boa, and decides not to ask.

He’s standing at the door to her room, arguing with himself if he’s going to go inside, when he feels the faintest of emotions from Rin. It’s barely there, noticeable only because he’d fallen silent in his thinking, that he can’t even tell what kind of emotion it is. Rin should be in school by now, and nowhere in their usual range; that even she could reach him from that far is impressive. Making a note to himself to congratulate her on this later, he goes back to looking around the mansion.

Not ten minutes later, Rin’s voice explodes in his head, a stark contrast to before.

_Archer! Where are you?!_

_Master,_ he responds, trying to get her to calm down. _I am at home, as you asked. Is something the—_

 _You need to get to school,_ now _._ Rin’s presence fades after that, presumably turning her attention to something else. With no other choice, he sighs, and leaves.

He makes his way to school as quickly as he can. As he approaches, he expects the boundary field around the school to come into view—but he finds none. Dreading the worst, he lands in the middle of the grounds, where he and Lancer first fought.

The school is silent—the life force that was supposed to be here is much weaker, gasping for breath.

Forcing himself to focus, he casts around for his Master. Rin is on the second floor in the building right in front of him. He goes inside and sees them coming from the other side of the corridor. Saber stops Shirou as they approach him, taking out Invisible Air.

“I’m surprised to see Saber with you,” he says by way of greeting. Before he can second guess himself, he materializes in front of them.

“You,” says Shirou, his voice dripping with disdain.

Rin walks in between them. “Archer! What are you doing showing up now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he drawls. “I sensed a threat to my Master and rushed to her side. But it appears I was too late.”

“Yes, it’s all over! I’ll fill you in on everything that happened while you were busy taking your sweet time, so stay put and listen!”

He scoffs. ”Looks like I arrived at the worst possible time.”

Rin turns away and crosses her arms. “You can say that again! A Servant got eliminated, and you show up after the fact?”

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Next time I’ll rush to your side at once. ...So, which Servant was eliminated?”

“Let us talk about this someplace else,” Saber interjects, looking at Rin.

“The woods should be safe,” she says, throwing Archer a funny look. He raises his eyebrows at her, unsure of what he did.

\--

“It was Rider,” Rin says simply, once they’ve settled a safe distance away from the school. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but she was probably taken out by Caster.”

“How spineless,” he says in distaste. “I suppose she really _was_ all talk.”

“Archer, Rider died protecting her Master,” Saber scolds. “You are in no position to call her spineless.”

“She was spineless all the same,” he says, raising an eyebrow. Saber is looking right at him, but for once it’s not in outright hostility, more like slight annoyance. He bristles uncomfortably; even mild annoyance coming from her felt too affectionate. Luckily, he knows her well enough to say the things that will rile her up. “One who calls herself a hero should at least try to take her opponent out with her.”

“That she went down without a fight suggests she was unable to do so,” Saber insists. ”You insult the manner of her death, and you call yourself a hero?”

He feels the beginnings of a curiosity he doesn't feel, but he keeps his eyes away from Rin, feigning innocence. It’s almost too easy, or maybe ironic, to say, “Well, hero or not, it stands to reason that anyone who isn’t worthy of this battle should be eliminated early on.”

“Well said,” Saber says, leaning forward, hand on her sword, and his blood sings with vicious contentment, that this is how it should be between them, now that she had no idea who he’s become, what he’s been through. “In that case, do you wish to fight me, Archer?”

“I am compelled by a Command Spell not to do so,” he replies calmly, eyes on Excalibur. “And without the ability to fight back, I would die just like Rider. Is that in keeping with your code of chivalry, Saber?”

He knows he hit a nerve; Saber lowers her body into a fighting stance. Archer’s heart pounds helplessly in his chest, as though it wanted to escape—

“Archer, that’s enough,” interjects Rin. “My alliance with Emiya-kun lasts until we defeat the Master hiding at school. Or what? Do you want to force me to use another Command Spell?”

Archer looks away. “Fair enough. Saber is so noble and righteous that I couldn’t help teasing her.” It’s not technically a lie, but he can see and feel Rin’s confusion. “My apologies, Saber.”

“No, my behavior was immature as well,” she defers, and straightens up, letting Excalibur disappear. “Out of respect for Rin, I shall overlook your words.”

She steps back to stand beside Shirou at the same time Rin steps back to stand with him. “Anyway, if we’re going to defeat Caster, the first thing we need to do is locate her Master,” Rin explains. “And for better or for worse, they come to this school every day. Rather than spooking them and putting them on guard, we should let them be.”

“In other words, after we identify the Master, we attack before they can return to Ryuudou Temple?” Shirou confirms.

“Exactly.”

“But after a big ruckus like this, won’t they deem it too risky to keep attending school?”

“That’s wrong,” Archer replies severely. “I doubt Caster’s Master still possesses a will of their own. Knowing her, her very first move was probably to turn her Master into a puppet.”

“That seems right,” Rin agrees. “Anyway, we’ll continue our investigation of the school. When we locate Caster’s Master, we strike.”

Shirou still looks hesitant. “That sounds reasonable, but how do we look for them?”

“That’ll be our homework for next time,” Rin says offhandedly. “We’re all tired. Let’s call it a day.”

Shirou bristles. “No, I can still—”

At this point, Rin grabs Shirou by the arm and tugs him away from their Servants, barely five meters away. This means he can easily hear Rin’s hastily whispered words with his heightened senses, which completely defeats the purpose: “Can’t you see that Archer’s acting strangely? Don’t you remember what happened yesterday? We need to wrap this up now!”

So she’d noticed. At least she got the reason wrong, at least for the most part. Thankfully, Shirou is swayed. “Okay! I’ll go home. I won’t fight anymore.”

She releases him, and walks back over to Archer innocently. “See you tomorrow, then. Oh, and good work today. I could actually see you as a Master, even if only a little.”

“Eh?” Shirou says weakly.

Rin puts her hands on hips and looks up at him. “Let’s go, Archer! I’ll give you a proper talking-to when we get back!”

“Ah, there it is,” he says dryly, following her without sparing a second glance. “The uncharacteristic lack of verbal abuse was troubling me.”

“Oh, hey,” she says, mock-offended, “Do I need to lay down the law?”

He does the mental equivalent of rolling his eyes. _I think you did that with your first Command Spell, Master,_ to which Rin smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of additional archer scenes today! i had a ton of fun writing each and every one of them; the cooking scene, especially, was irresistible. hope you enjoyed as much as i did!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (“Are you not going to ask for my assistance regarding this mission, Rin?” he had asked, out of sheer curiosity. Rin had looked at him, and laughed.)

_His body made of blades, with blood of iron and a heart of glass._

_He survived many a battlefield unconquered._

_Never once made to back down. Never once understood._

_He was ever drunk on victory, stood alone upon a hill of swords._

_Thus was his life left bereft of meaning._

_And his body built of blades._

 

He can feel when Rin wakes up. She’s usually groggy in the mornings, but right then, her head is uncharacteristically clear and, he realizes, she’s thinking about him.

He’d forgotten about the dreams—a Master’s dreams of their Servant, a side effect of being magically linked. Rin must have seen something in his history, from his time as a Counter Guardian. It isn’t much to worry about, for the moment; she can’t figure out his identity from that.

But to be safe, he’s more offhand that morning, only glancing at her when she walks into the living room. She pouts and says, “Wouldn’t hurt to say good morning, Archer.”

“Good morning, Master,” he says obediently, carrying over her tea.

They sit in silence, her sipping her tea. Considering the events of the past few days, sitting around watching his Master live her life seemed absurd. “How long do you intend to keep playing around?”

“What? Just until 7:30,” she answers, glancing at the clock. “Any longer, and I’ll be late for school.”

“I wasn’t referring to your leaving for school,” he says, leaning against the bookcase. “I was referring to the Holy Grail War.” He looks across the room at her. “Cooperating with another Master isn’t a bad idea, but you’ve chosen the worst possible partner you could.”

Rin sighs. “Didn’t I say I wouldn’t break my pact with Emiya-kun? I admit he isn’t much use in a fight, but I have no complaints with him as an ally. I mean...” She looks down into her teacup. “I feel like Emiya-kun would never betray me, no matter what.”

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach, but he keeps his expression level. “Listen. That boy isn’t a winner. If you must ally with someone, even Caster would be better.” He’d been thinking about it since that night at Ryuudou Temple—even his misgivings about her involving civilians was justified, if they wanted the greater good, which was to be able to defeat Berserker before he caused damage on a greater scale.

This was something he accepted easily, after eons of similar compromises staring him in the face that he refused to accept, leading to more death and destruction. But for his Master—

Rin slams down her teacup. “Don’t be absurd, Archer. Are you telling me to take a common stance with that monster?” She glares, daring him to say the wrong thing.

“Yes, she is a monster, but she behaves like a real mage,” he says carefully, wishing she would understand. “And if you too are a mage, you should prioritize results over ideals.”

“Your snide remarks won’t work. I don’t intend to change my position.”

“Really. What has gotten into you?” He uncrosses his arms; this felt like an argument they’d already had, and for the same reason. “You’ve been acting strangely ever since you got to know Emiya Shirou. What happened to your detached rationality?”

“Yes, I know I’m not myself,” Rin turns to him. “But that’s because of all the nonsense _you’ve_ been showing me.”

That catches him off guard. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Forget it.” She shakes her head slightly, as if to clear it. “Anyway, since you’re my Servant, bear in mind that I’ll only do what I think is right. I’m not as naive as Emiya Shirou, but there are some things I won’t budge on.” Rin turns to look at him, the challenge still in her eyes. “I won’t compromise on those—not for anyone. What do you say to that, Archer?”

He looks at her for a moment. “What _can_ I say?” He walks to stand across from her. “It’s a vassal’s duty to support his lord when she’s out of sorts. I’ll watch over you from the shadows until you’re yourself again.” He dematerializes in the middle of the living room, carefully keeping his emotions blank.

\--

He’s painfully reminded of how bad it is to be arguing with Rin when she comes home later than usual that afternoon, and goes straight up to her room without acknowledging him. He watches quietly, invisible, until she walks back downstairs with her coat in hand.

“Archer,” she calls, and Archer materializes in front of her at once. “Emiya-kun and I think we found Caster’s Master. I’m going out tonight to see if he’s the real deal.”

“Understood,” he replies, not missing the way she used the word ‘ _I_ ’. “And my role in this?”

“Stay at home,” Rin says, putting on her coat. “We’ll be safe with Saber.”

He has little choice but to bow and watch her walk out the door.

Telling Rin to ally with Caster had been the wrong move; she continued to prefer Emiya Shirou and mistook Archer’s intentions to be more sinister rather than simply wanting to win the Grail War. This, in turn, made her want to keep him away from Caster; that much was apparent.

Vowing to correct the misstep as soon as he can, he settles to wait for his Master.

\--

“You were wrong, Archer,” is Rin’s greeting, as soon as she steps through the door past midnight. He hasn’t even materialized yet, and she’s already sassing him.

“About everything, or are we considering something specific here?” he replies.

“Caster’s Master isn’t a puppet after all,” says Rin, shrugging off her coat. He absentmindedly takes it, along with her orange scarf. “Her Master is Kuzuki Souichirou, a teacher at my school, and he overpowered both me and Saber tonight.”

He doesn’t hold back his surprise quick enough before saying, “Even Saber…? A Master beat the most powerful Servant?”

“He was a proficient fighter even before becoming a Master, I’m sure of it,” Rin says, walking into the living room, leaving him to follow. “Caster stood by and gave him magical reinforcement, but even then, Kuzuki is equally deadly as his Servant.”

Archer ponders this; it only made Caster a more valuable ally in his eyes. Rin wouldn’t appreciate that view, though. Changing tack, he says, “How did you fight him off?”

At this, Rin looks up at him, worrying her lip, fixing him with a gaze that asked a thousand questions. “Emiya-kun made a projection of your twin swords,” she says carefully. “He—Kuzuki-sensei knocked me out, and he was forced to fight. I was pretty out of it, but it was definitely your swords.”

She pauses, as though waiting for his reply. He stays silent, expressionless, emotionless—this was not unexpected. Emiya Shirou was capable of projection magic even during the Fifth Grail War. He’d only hoped that Rin wouldn’t see if it happened.

“Projection magic is infamous for its uselessness,” he says finally, meeting her eyes. “Any projection that could fight off an assailant as you described would be unheard of.”

“They seemed to think so too,” answers Rin. “It caught them so off guard that they retreated. But we blew it—Caster’s Master won’t leave the temple now.”

“A logical move.” He looks aside at Rin, now deep in thought. “What do we do now, Rin?”

“The projection magic took a lot out of him,” Rin sighs, rubbing at her eyes. “Right now we need the same thing he does—rest. I’ll go over there and figure things out tomorrow.”

He nods, as Rin goes up to her bedroom. When the sounds from the direction of her room die down, he’s left sitting in silence on the living room couch.

Rin now knew about the true nature of Emiya Shirou’s magic—that it was not rooted in fortification, but rather projection. She is a smart mage, and would surely have guessed the nature of his own magic to be something similar, if not the same. It was a big step in figuring out his real identity. One question now remained: how much longer would it take for her to put it together?

\--

Rin continues to treat him no differently the next day, even after two major hints to his identity in the form of the Guardian dream and Shirou’s projection. He knows this because she asks him to bring her an overnight bag to the Emiyas’, another menial task that was really just her making full use of her ‘Servant’.

He’s long since learned that arguing with her about this kind of thing is a waste of time; it was faster to do them. Moreover, he did want to see what his Master is up to.

She smiles at the sight of him grumpily carrying an overnight bag on the doorstep, but she waves him off soon after. He has little to do more than sit on the roof and listen to the rustling wind, until two distinct voices drift up to him from the direction of the shed. He heads over in that direction until he can make out the words.

“...a reaction to the projection magic I did last night.”

Shirou and Saber. He materializes a careful distance away from the two, leaning against the doorframe. “Is your body still half-numb?” he asks.

Saber eyes him warily. “Archer.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” he says to the boy, ignoring her.

“What do you want, Archer?” Saber stands up, as if to shield Shirou. “I thought we had a non-aggression pact.”

He uncrosses his arms and starts to walk over—but he’s barely taken a step before Saber says, “Stop right there. If you come any closer, I hope you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

“Wait, Saber.” Shirou looks up at him from the floor. “He doesn’t want to fight.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” the boy says, smiling at her. It slides off his face as he turns to address Archer. “What do you want, Archer? Knowing you, I’m guessing you didn’t just drop by to say hello.”

“Hm. Rin told me that you performed a projection, and it really is true,” says Archer, probing the magic energy around Shirou. “You have no sensation in half your body, and your center of gravity is seven centimeters off, correct?” Shirou’s eyes widen in surprise at his accuracy. With Rin so close to figuring out his identity, he shrugs it off. “I may be able to assist you.”

Saber looks to her Master, who nods. She steps aside as Archer comes closer to take a better look at Shirou’s magic circuits.

He lays a hand on Shirou’s back. As he expected, his circuits are ragged with mana, some more than others, causing the imbalance and numbness in his body. “You’re fortunate. I expected to see necrosis, but you’ve simply opened something that was once closed.”

Shirou’s brows knit together. “Opened something that was once closed…?”

“The circuits you were meant to use from the beginning had grown dormant from neglect,” Archer explains. “The numbness is only temporary. By suddenly flooding circuits you never used with mana at full power, you sent them into a state of shock. This means that the circuits have returned to an active state.”

Archer sends a weak pulse of mana through Shirou, leveling out the entire system. Shirou’s spine straightens in surprise. Archer puts his hand back down and says, “That should do it. You’ll recover in a few days. When you can move properly again, you’ll find yourself a better mage than before.” He stands up to leave, leaving the boy speechless.

“You certainly know a lot about this, Archer,” Saber says quietly.

He stops walking, and maybe it’s her presence, the same as that day, that he remembers—his first real projection: Caliburn, the Sword in the Stone. “I went through something similar.” _I projected your sword, the sword that changed your fate_. “At first, I lost the use of one arm.”

He begins to walk away again, eager to get out of the shed. The memories of Caliburn and the shed open the floodgates of the rest of his early projections—he’d spent many nights after the Grail War continuing to hone his projection magic. With not much to go on but the fact that he could project Caliburn, he kept trying to do it again, until he could make a copy that stayed in his hands long enough for his heart to burn at the thought of what it represented—

“Wait.”

Archer stops at the sound of Shirou’s voice. “What?”

“I want to ask you something.” Shirou had stood up while his back was turned. “‘Let your ideals drag you to your death.’ What did you mean by that?”

“It seems self-explanatory,” Archer says quietly. “There’s nothing to add.”

“Then what the hell are you fighting for?” Shirou demands.

“That’s obvious.” If the boy wanted to have this fight right here, how could he refuse? “I fight for myself—simple as that.”

Shirou’s eyes widen. “Just for yourself?”

“That’s right. If you desire to fulfill your ideal of nobody getting hurt, then so be it. But only if that desire is truly yours.” He turns to look at the boy, who still held Emiya Kiritsugu’s ideal so close to heart. “If you fight of your own free will, you bring the consequences upon yourself. Accepting them is a part of that ideal. But if that desire was borrowed from another, the ideals you uphold are mere fantasies.”

He keeps his eyes on Shirou, the reason he is here: the beginning and the end. And he voices the thought he’d kept so close to his metal heart: “One must have a reason for fighting. But that reason must never be an ideal. If you fight for an ideal, you can only save ideals. And it means you can’t save others. All reasons to fight involve saving something. Or at the very least, yours does. Is that right, Emiya Shirou?

“But salvation by the hands of another is not salvation. Such salvation is like money. When used, it passes to another’s hands. It’s true that you can probably achieve your desire to save others. But you have no desire to save yourself. You will repeat the cycle until you die, still clinging to ideals that are not your own. That is why your ideals are meaningless.”

He turns around for the last time, determined to leave. He cannot attack Shirou here, not with Saber standing right there. “Nothing comes of helping others,” he bites out, in farewell. “In the end, you can save neither others nor yourself. A lie of a life.”

Neither Saber or Shirou stops him as he dematerializes. Faintly, he hears Saber quietly say “Shirou?” after he’s leapt to the roof of the house, out of sight.

\--

He spends the next day alone in quiet meditation at the mansion. Rin had stayed behind at the Emiyas’, muttering under her breath about an important mission she had to do.

(“Are you not going to ask for my assistance regarding this mission, Rin?” he had asked, out of sheer curiosity. Rin had looked at him, and laughed.)

In the early afternoon, he feels the lightest tug of a call from Rin, the exact same call he’d felt when Rider activated her boundary field at the school. He darts out of the mansion without a moment of hesitation, speeding towards what seems to be the bridge.

The magical field is undoubtedly Caster’s from the sheer potency and scale of it. It takes him much longer than he would’ve liked before breaking through the boundary and instinctively, he knows that his Master is in grave danger—he projects a bow and rains down hundreds of suppressive rounds. He lands lightly next to Rin and the boy, because _of course_ he’s here.

“It’s about time!” Rin yells, although their bond overflows with gratitude.

“My apologies,” he says coolly, nocking another arrow. “It took quite some time to breach that magic field. From the inside, however...” He fires another arrow at the sphere, and it breaks easily.

“Archer, take Fujimura-sensei!” calls Rin. “Now, while we still can!”

Shirou is kneeling on the ground, holding onto Fujimura, and he is also injured. He mentally thanks whoever’s responsible. The boy glances up to a point behind him, and Archer turns to look—

And his tin heart skips another beat as Saber stands in the rain, Invisible Air at her side, the breadth of the blade he knows so well the same size as Shirou’s wound.

He averts his eyes, picks up Fujimura, leaps out of the magic field, and doesn’t think about the tear streaks on her cheeks.

\--

Archer and Rin put the Emiyas to rest in the mansion’s guest rooms, him mostly taking care of Fujimura. She is uninjured and out cold, so the extent of his care is to carry her to bed and tuck her under the comforter. Rin puts Shirou to rest in the next room over; he stands outside the door as she tends to his wounds with a tenderness that hurts to watch.

He could turn away, but Rin’s emotions are dominant in him, whatever he does. So he keeps watching as his Master carefully cleans the wound, inflicted by the sword he knew so well, and thinks about what he missed.

It isn’t hard to figure out what happened at the bridge. Saber would never harm Emiya Shirou unless compelled by a strong external force, such as a Command Spell—and if it was not Emiya Shirou’s or Rin’s, then that left Caster. Most probably, the boy was forced to give over his Command Spells while Fujimura was held hostage.

That, in turn, caused Saber to be held hostage.

Rin turns to leave the room and startles at the sight of him in the doorway. They stare at each other wordlessly, Master and Servant recovering from the events of the afternoon.

Archer breaks the silence. “What happened, Rin?”

Rin sighs, and looks back over her shoulder, at the wounded boy on the bed. “Let me take a bath first, then we’ll talk.”

He thinks of Saber, undoubtedly with Caster. “Time is of the essence,” he says tightly, letting her feel his worry. “If my interpretations are correct, then Caster has acquired Saber. Who knows what she could do with such newfound—”

“I’m still taking a bath,” Rin interrupts. Her tone hasn’t shifted from her usual mild arrogance, but for the first time since their contract, he notices the slump of her shoulders, the bags under her eyes—it’s a strong reminder that she is, after all, still a teenager. “If it matters that much to you, I’ll answer your questions while I’m naked.”

She looks at him with sly eyes, laughter in them, daring him to react. “I would be honored,” he says flatly, and her eyes soften to a genuine smile.

\--

Rin makes him sit in the living room couch while she takes a bath. He sits there obediently silent as Rin prepares. Her stress is thrown into even more relief as she lowers herself into the warm water and such contentment washes over her that it spills through to him.

 _That’s it,_ she sighs. _Sorry, Archer, it’s been a long day. Alright, then. What did you want to ask?_

He gets right to the point. _What happened at the bridge, Rin?_

 _Caster held Fujimura-sensei hostage for Emiya-kun’s Command Spells,_ Rin says. _Emiya-kun didn’t even hesitate. … Caster ordered Saber to attack him, and she couldn’t—she tried to hard to resist it, but she couldn’t._

He’s silent for a moment.

Emiya Shirou didn’t even hesitate to turn over his Saber.

 _And Saber just took that?_ he asks in disbelief.

 _Well... no,_ Rin says. _Caster started to take his Command Spells but Saber stepped forward to fight her. Caster… Caster used her Noble Phantasm. Rule Breaker, I think she said._

Rule Breaker, the dagger of Betrayal, the weapon that could do no physical damage but is considered to be the strongest anti-Thaumaturgy weapon. He had only heard the legends, and its existence in the hands of Caster was a massive hint to her real identity.

And she had used that weapon to sever Saber’s contract with Shirou, with not much hesitation from him.

He shouldn’t be surprised. That was only one of perhaps millions of unfair trade-offs he’d encountered over the years, some worse, but this one still crawls under his skin. _I see. Saber was taken while I was busy breaching the field._

He can practically feel Rin’s eyebrows draw together, even through the mental link. _That’s all you have to say?_

 _Yes,_ he answers simply. Knowing his Master would dwell on this, he changes the topic. _But we should count our blessings that we now know what Caster’s Noble Phantasm is._ He scoffs. _That Caster… always sloppy on the follow-through. Deep down, she might actually be a decent woman._

 _You don’t seem very concerned, Archer,_ she says, and he can almost hear the pout in her voice. _Weren’t you rooting for Saber?_

 _I don’t recall ever giving that impression,_ he replies, on reflex. _What makes you think that, Rin?_

_Well… would you believe me if I said it was women’s intuition?_

_No,_ he says flatly. _For one, are you even old enough to qualify as a woman? You are lacking in feminine charms, to begin with, not to mention refinement. Furthermore—and this is the most damning—your appeal is hard to see._

Inexplicably, Rin giggles as she steps out of the bathroom, tying her hair. “Well, well. You’ve finally found your groove again, haven’t you? _”_

He looks at her, then shrugs with one arm.

“Getting back to the topic at hand,” Rin says, in a way that means his deflection didn’t work, “Here’s my first piece of evidence that you were rooting for Saber: the first time you met her, you went easy, didn’t you? No matter how powerful Saber is, I doubt she could have gotten the better of you. Not with your defenses.”

“She caught me unawares,” he says. It’s not a lie—she did. Caught him so unawares that he damn well near forgot what he was there for. “Like you, I’m vulnerable to unexpected developments.”

“Oh, come off it,” Rin says, her grin growing lighter, oblivious to the way he felt heavier with every second. “The second piece of evidence: after the incident with Rider. You tried to provoke Saber, didn’t you? That’s out of character for you, no matter what you say. But when I looked at it from another angle, it made perfect sense. You were actually scolding Saber, weren’t you?” He stops to ponder that one—correcting her would be giving her unnecessary clues to his actual reason for riling up Saber. He doesn’t reply, and she actually claps her hands in glee. “I’m right? I knew it!”

She skips around the table to sit next to him, and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes makes it hard to look straight at her. “I don’t know if you two knew each other in a previous life or what, but it’s unusual for you to be cold to someone.”

“Is it? As far as I’m aware, I treat everyone that way,” he mutters.

“That’s just how it looks to you,” Rin presses. “The way I see it, you’re only awkward when it comes to things dealing with yourself. You’re much smoother when it comes to others, which is why no one notices.”

Rin is undeniably close to figuring him out, after seeing Shirou’s projection magic. After guessing at his relationship to Saber. After figuring out that he still had the same ideal, the same mentality, but much more jaded. Which is why it’s not a big surprise when Rin’s next words are, “So, have you finally remembered? Do you know which Heroic Spirit you are?”

He’s still thinking about what to say when Rin continues right on: “If you have some connection to Saber, you ought to be from an era that’s close to hers, right?”

He’s not sure if she’s already solved the mystery of who he is and is giving him an easy out, or genuinely thinks that he’s from the same era as Saber. As it is, he takes the easy out: “No. Everything is still hazy.” He ought to leave it at that, but he also knows his Master isn’t an idiot, so he adds, “But as you say, I do have memories of this Saber. However, she does not seem to know me, so we could not have been very close.”

“Oh,” Rin says at last, and he figures they’re on solid ground, so he changes the topic.

“More to the point, Rin, how is your guest?”

“Mm… luckily, he wasn’t hit anywhere vital. But his wounds aren’t healing at all this time. Their pact has been broken, so he might have lost the healing ability he’d been getting from Saber.”

Just to be contrary, he says, “No, not him. I meant the other.”

“Eh? Oh, Fujimura-sensei? Caster seems to have put her under a sleeping spell, but she’s perfectly healthy. I’ve treated her, so she could sleep a whole week with no problems. Knowing Fujimura-sensei, she might jump out of bed at any moment.”

“Perhaps, but that woman’s enchantments are more curses than spells,” he muses. “The simplest way to break them is to kill the original caster.”

“That’s true.”

They both fall into meditative silence. He thinks of the boy, heavily wounded, sleeping peacefully upstairs. He thinks of Saber, how helplessly unaware they were of her current status.

_He didn’t even hesitate._

Saber is the only thing that keeps the boy alive— he had determined this fact early on. But now she is no longer his Servant, and the only major roadblock remaining is his Master’s explicit Command.

But with the revelation of Caster’s Noble Phantasm, there is now a way around even that. With Rule Breaker, he could sever his contract with Rin and successfully kill Shirou without unwanted hindrance from Rin’s Command Spell.

Up until this point, he has been focused on killing Shirou. Now that he has a clear, well-defined means of doing it, he stops to consider what happens after.

Rin, without Archer, would be left without a Servant, and while she’s mentioned that the Church is willing to take in Masters, he knows there’s no way she would take that lying down. Saber, without Shirou, would be left with Caster as her Master. And since Rin’s current agenda immediately involved defeating Caster, that left Saber without a Master.

The obvious answer would be for Rin to make a contract with Saber, as she originally intended, and go on to win the Grail War. This sequence of events achieves all his goals, even ones he didn’t think he could accomplish until it came together.

Rin is quiet, sitting next to him, completely unaware of her Servant’s realizations. There is a very high possibility of him having to become Caster’s Servant for a time before killing Shirou, because it remains the only way he could get her to take out Rule Breaker. He takes a moment to meditate, to savor the feeling of Rin’s mana through him, before he says what he has to: “Defeating Caster is our top priority.”

“I know,” says his Master. “If possible, I’d like to do so before Saber falls completely under her control.”

He stands up. “Understood.” Struck with a realization, he adds, “So your pact with that boy is also over, then.”

“Eh?”

“Don’t ‘eh?’ me. Emiya Shirou is no longer a Master, correct?” When Rin doesn’t answer, he says, “What’s this? Surely you aren’t going to say that you mean to look after him as a fallen comrade.”

“Hardly,” says Rin, not looking at him. “I’m not that soft.”

Well, it was worth a shot. “What, then?”

“It isn’t over yet. Our agreement will stand until he himself says that he wants out of the war,” Rin says. “I can reject him all I want, but nothing is over until he says it is.”

He sighs. “Rin...”

“That’s our course of action,” she insists. “Do you object, Archer?”

He looks away, shrugs. With his plan, everything would come together regardless. “Would it matter if I did? I know painfully well that you won’t stop until you have your way.”

His Master smiles. “Let’s go, Archer.”

\--

Rin brings them both back to the top of a building, where Archer lazily lets his class-enhanced senses stretch over the city of Fuyuki. He sits on the top of the elevator block, observing the city go about its life around them, listening intently for any sign of magical activity.

His Master stands at the edge of the parapet, whispering quiet incantations, sending out familiars to specific spots around the city. Her quiet murmurings set him at peace, feeling the flow of her mana through and past him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he senses a presence. Turning his head slightly as to not alert Rin, he spots a black bird, almost invisible in the night, perched quietly on the parapet of a building a few blocks over. Its feathers gleam dully in the moonlight, looking almost like scales—dragon’s scales.

Pretentious, Archer thinks, sending dragontooth familiars in a Grail War in which only one of the participants was capable of doing so.

“Well, that didn’t go very well,” Rin says quietly, interrupting his thoughts after several minutes of silence, the sound carrying over the night wind. He opens his eyes to look at her, back turned to him, black hair blowing in the wind, head turned towards Ryuudou Temple.

“What is it, Rin?”

“They destroyed my familiar,” she says casually. “Must be that Assassin you mentioned.”

“They are on guard.” He closes his eyes, focuses on the impenetrable magical barrier surrounding the temple.

Footsteps on the stairwell below him. _Rin, someone’s coming,_ he warns.

She doesn’t even turn around. _Any idea who it is?_

Staggered footsteps, heavy breathing. The gait of someone who is heavily injured, but continues to push himself. He lets this infomation through to Rin, and he can barely feel her sigh as she turns to face the intruder.

“Why are you here?” she tells the wounded boy in black. “Go home. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but you’re being a nuisance.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” says Shirou, still holding onto the wound in his shoulder. “I promised that I’d fight alongside you, remember?”

“Forget about that stupid promise,” Rin says imperiously. “I mean, what you can you possibly do as you are now? You’ve lost Saber.”

“I—”

“Besides, there’s no need for you to fight now. You’re not a Master,” Rin says, and even though they’re standing on even ground, she gives off the air of looking down at him. “Take shelter in the church, and you’ll be safe.”

“Don’t be stupid! I can’t leave Saber like that!” Shirou argues. ( _So why did you leave her so easily?_ Archer thinks vehemently) “So no matter what, I’m gonna fight to the bitter en—” He interrupts himself with a scream. He collapses to his knees, clutching his shoulder in pain. Rin’s eyes flick up at him on his perch; Archer shakes his head.

A rush of pity from Rin, quickly shaken off. “Look at yourself. You’ve had Saber to help you until now, but you’re a wreck without her,” Rin says loftily. “Besides, for all your talk about Saber, what happens to her is no longer your concern.”

“You’re wrong. I may not be a Master anymore, but I could tell she was in anguish. I won’t leave her in Caster’s grasp!”

“I see. The problem is, you’re powerless,” says Rin, ever direct. “You refuse to admit it, so I’ll tell you straight: there’s nothing you can do to help Saber as you are now.”

Fury flows from Rin, and her desire to leave pulses through his temples so hard that he could almost feel it giving him a headache. He stands up and dematerializes.

“That’s all there is to say,” Rin is saying, as he drifts invisibly behind her, relishing his Master’s fury at this incompetent Master. “You’ve lost Saber, and you’re no longer a Master. There’s no longer any reason for you to remain involved in the Holy Grail War, so bow out here.”

The boy rambles inelegantly; Archer does not bother to listen. He turns around and lets himself fall to the bottom of the building, ready to leave.

_Rin. Let’s go._

He feels his Master step off the rooftop, and jumps accordingly to catch her. She fits easily in his arms, just like the night he’d carried her to the Emiya house.

Rin turns back to look at the building, now distant, and says quietly, “Stay out of this from here on… or you’re dead.”

Archer doesn’t even bother to hold back the rush of adrenaline he feels, carrying his hardheaded Master while they soar through the air and she threatens his former self. Recovering a little from the encounter with Shirou, Rin smiles at the emotion in their bond and pulls slightly closer to his jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's the end of season 1 of the anime! we are now halfway through this fic, thank you to everyone who's shown their support!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s braced for it, but the tidal wave of hurt and betrayal and desperation from Rin hits him more painfully than any external force could ever hope to accomplish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the turning point of the unlimited blade works route.

_When was it that I finally figured out the true nature of that dream? That it was a certain Heroic Spirit’s mental landscape?_

_Among the many Heroic Spirits—the Servants—there are special Servants that are safeguards, called “Guardians”. They are summoned into the various ages and prevent the world’s destruction. Or, more accurately, they counter the human race’s self-destruction._

_Even though he was summoned to save humanity, before he could save them, he was forced to shoulder their countless mistakes. It didn’t take long for him to determine that it was futile and start despising the human world._

_In the end, he continued to be betrayed by his ideal, even after his death..._

 

Rin wakes up with an ache in her back, her mind unusually clear.

She’s woken up this clear-minded only once before—after she dreamt of a broken man, painfully familiar. Her dream this time is similar, and she finally remembers the word she’s been struggling to remember.

Counter Guardian.

She straightens up and looks around for her Servant (her Counter Guardian?), when something falls off her shoulders. She grabs quickly to catch it—a soft red jacket, just a shade warmer than her own clothes.

Archer materializes in front of her, wearing his usual severe expression even as their bond hums with concern. His own jacket is still snug over his shoulders. “If you aren’t feeling well, we can put this off,” he says softly. “There’s no pressing need to attack right away.”

“No, if we know where Caster is, we should deal with her at once.” She looks down at the jacket in her hands. Even though he was still wearing his, there was no one else it could belong to; she holds it out to him. “Here.” As he walks towards her, she realizes something and smirks. “So you just watched me sleep instead of waking me? That’s kinda creepy.”

“Relax,” says Archer dismissively, taking the jacket from her and dematerializing it. “I wouldn’t dream of doing something so improper. I did overhear a thing or two, though. You muttered a few rather harsh things, like ‘this is so irritating’ and ‘I’m pissed’.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Rin says, mostly to herself. Remembering the reason she said those, she says carefully, “Hey, Archer… have you ever regretted the things you’ve done?” She folds her hands together, and quickly elaborates, “I want to do whatever I can to avoid having regrets. That’s probably easier said than done, though. I bet it’s even harder than I imagine.”

“Some can do it, and some can’t,” Archer says, much more quickly than Rin expects, but then again— “You strike me as the former type. Not only do such people rarely make mistakes, they don’t dwell on the ones they do.” His eyes flutter shut as he turns away from her, and Rin looks at him as though it was finally allowed. “Rin… brilliant people shine more brightly than ordinary ones. They never regret or agonize over what they’ve done. And you are most definitely that sort of person.” He opens his eyes to look at her, the raw emotion in his eyes reinforced by their bond. “Tohsaka Rin can believe in her own path to the very end without regret.”

Meeting his gaze head on is too much—she blushes and turns away, but she shakes it off and presses on mercilessly. “What about you, then? Will you be able to believe you made the right choices until the very end?”

He turns away from her again, and for the first time since his summoning, she sees him for how young he is. She wonders how old he was when he died. “I’m sorry, but that question is meaningless.”

Her heart skips a beat, and dares to ask, “Why?”

She can’t quite see what he looks like, turned away from her, but she has a feeling she doesn’t want to know. “Have you forgotten, Master?” he says quietly, “My ‘end’ came and went long ago.”

His voice betrays no emotion—he says it as fact, as something he’s long since accepted, and it breaks her heart. Here was a man who gave everything he had to humanity, only to be repeatedly betrayed by them. Although he’s good at making it seem like he’d made peace with the fact, the least he could do when talking about it was to _look_ at her.

_Archer’s seen enough betrayal,_ she decides, staring at his back and blindly angry at whoever dared hurt her Archer, vowing to do her damnedest not to contribute to his suffering.

\--

They head to the church in the late afternoon, Rin mildly irritated all the way. Archer takes the time to reassess everything he did in the past few hours, just to double check if that was his fault in any way. Rin regards him dismissively.

“Kirei usually notices my familiars and calls to check up on me,” she explains, as they cross the bridge. “He knows there’s usually a good reason I send familiars to the Church. But this time he just ignored them!”

“‘Usually’?” Archer asks. “So sometimes there’s _no_ good reason?”

“It’s the only place I can practice my familiars and have confirmation that they’re doing their job,” Rin answers. “Also, I was much more mischievous as a kid, so...” Rin shakes her head, spins around to face him, walking backwards. “Anyway. We have to talk about how what we’re going to do if we run into Caster and Kuzuki, since there’s a chance they’re at the Church.”

“I have fought Caster before, and you have fought Kuzuki before,” he points out.

“No, _I’ve_ fought Caster and Kuzuki together,” Rin corrects. “They’re stronger together. Caster isn’t a close-combat fighter, while Kuzuki is. But her magic benefits both of them.”

“And between you and me, I am the close combat fighter.”

“Yes. So I think you should fight Kuzuki, and let me handle Caster,” Rin says, as they approach the gate.

Archer ponders this. For his plan to work, he would have to get close to Caster, so ideally, he should be the one to fight her. But even with this setup, it wouldn’t be hard to disable Rin long enough so he could talk to Caster.

“You’re worried,” Rin says, misinterpreting his silence. “Oh, don’t be.” She goes into the gate, past the lawn, and through the door with the familiarity of someone who lived there. “He’s not here,” she says, looking around. Archer doesn’t ask how she knows. She keeps walking, to one of the side doors behind the altar. Archer follows her into the side room, off of which Rin opens another door into the courtyard. She stops with her hand on the doorknob, staring at a point outside.

“Rin?”

He moves to stand next to her, and he sees it—in the middle of the courtyard, easily visible from the door, is a dark red bloodstain, stark against the bleached concrete of the pavement. He walks to it, Rin following behind him.

“She attacked the overseer? I’d say that’s a bold move,” Rin says, looking down at the red mark. “Kirei was probably prepared for it, though.”

He takes a deep breath. “Rin, I must ask you again.”

“What, you’re still worried? I’ll take Caster on. If you get too close, she might use Rule Breaker on you too,” Rin says, and Archer feels the undercurrent of her worry, that their contract would be broken prematurely. He manages not to react outwardly. “So I’ll leave her Master, Kuzuki, to you.”

“I’m fine with taking on that man,” Archer says, recovering quickly. “But do you understand that no mage alive is a match for Caster?”

“Relax,” Rin says, cheerfully repeating his words back to him. “If I didn’t have a chance, I wouldn’t have suggested it. You can leave her to me, Archer.”

He closes his eyes and sighs to himself, stifling the untimely well of affection for her. “Very well. I’ll believe in you.”

“Alright. Let’s do this.” Rin walks away, towards the corridors. “I’ll take out Caster here, no matter what. And when I do, Saber will probably return to normal and be able to forge a new pact with Shirou, right?”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. Even here and now, with betrayal set firmly in his heart, Rin trusts him implicitly—enough to turn her back to him and walk away, casually speaking of the ideal outcome, where both pairs of Master and Servant walk out of the Church with each other.

Rin doesn’t notice the lapse in her Servant’s normally impeccable facade. She turns back to see him walking after her, scanning their surroundings in the way he always does when entering a new place. “Well? Can you feel a Servant around?”

He closes his eyes and probes the area for any sort of magical energy. The Church was purposefully built on ground that had a natural inclination towards magic, but he focuses on the magic that binds him to the Grail, and thus to the other Servants—and feels two distinct Servant energies, deep underground.

“Does this place have any sort of underground facility?” he asks.

Rin immediately walks toward an unmarked door. “The underground church hall,” she mutters. “That creepy place.”

She wrenches the door open to reveal a set of old, moldy stone steps, and runs down them. The walls are grimy and dripping with water, and Rin almost slips on the steps a few times. The deeper they go, the thicker the air becomes, just like the blood barrier at the school.

The stairwell flattens out into a lobby with a single, arched doorway. Beyond it Archer can see a cobwebbed chandelier, and the tops of tall, doric columns.

_We’re here,_ Rin warns him unnecessarily, striding forward through the doorway. She bristles at the sight of Caster, at the bottom of the hall, down from the balcony where they emerged. Without waiting for the command, Archer picks her up and jumps off the balcony, landing ten meters away from Caster.

Behind her is another altar, softly lit by a girl in a white dress— _Saber._

The sound of her labored breathing reaches him, and at that moment, he wants nothing more than to pierce Caster with thousands of arrows, swords, lances, anything he could project from memory. But he forces himself to think of the plan, of Saber and Rin’s victory of the Grail War, and how he _has_ to do it right.

Distantly he hears footsteps coming from the corridor they just came through, and he thinks, _The cast is all here._

“Did you kill Kirei?” Rin asks, without preamble.

“Yes,” says Caster. “It seemed like he was not going to give me the Grail without protesting.”

“That’s good judgment,” Rin scoffs. “So, did you make sure he was dead?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. If you didn’t see his corpse, he’s still stubbornly clinging to life somewhere, that’s all,” Rin says loftily, “But enough about him. Let’s get this over with. This time you don’t have a human shield, so I can go all out to beat you.”

Caster grins. “Do you think you can beat me in a battle of magic?”

“It depends on how I go about it. And thankfully, you don’t seem to have full control of Saber yet. Plus, I also know how strong Kuzuki-sensei is. He’s no match for my Archer. Are you ready, Archer?”

“I am,” he says evenly. “We proceed as planned, then, Rin?”

“Yes. Don’t hold back,” Rin says, with that determination to fight that he’d come to appreciate. “I’m using everything I have!”

“How adorable,” Caster says quietly, surrounding herself with red globes of mana. “You think you have a chance against me one-on-one?” She rises up off the ground, the globes spinning wildly around the hall, and come to rest near the edges of her cape. “Are you forgetting my trump card? With my Command Spells, I can make her my puppet here and now.” Caster raises her left hand, flaunting Shirou’s Command Spell.

“Were you to use one, Saber would be able to resist it,” Rin bluffs. “I don’t know if it would be for one minute or two, but that’s more than enough time to take down the likes of you!”

Rin throws her gems at Caster; she counters with tendrils of pink mana. Bright plumes of smoke explode across the middle of the hall, and Rin uses the cover to throw more stones at different angles. She throws one blue gem, slightly larger than the others, straight at Caster—

It explodes in a flash of blinding light, disorienting Caster. “I’ll start by dragging you down to Earth!” Rin yells, her arm outstretched, firing Gandr shots at the disoriented Servant. From the side of the hall comes footsteps—Kuzuki’s, no doubt, headed straight for Rin—

“Archer!”

He flashsteps between them, pulled by his Master’s mana for the very last time—and throws out an arm to knock her away. She lands on a pew, shock rolling over her. “Huh? Archer?”

Kuzuki looks back at him, ready to fight. From over his shoulder, he sees Rin raise an arm and fire a Gandr shot—he quickly steps around Kuzuki while projecting Kanshou to destroy it.

The hall is quiet as the fragments of her gem clatter on the floor. “What do you think you’re doing, Archer…?”

“You see, defeating her here struck me as overly idealistic,” he says quietly. “When it comes to escaping, she’s the best there is. She even tore apart her own younger brother to get away.”

Behind him, he hears the clack of Caster’s shoes on the floor. “You talk as though you know all about me,” she says, a note of surprise in her voice. “Have you discerned my true identity?”

“Familiars that use dragon teeth as vessels are the hallmark of the King of Colchis’s magic,” he recites, remembering a black bird perched on a building. “His daughter, Princess Medea, was hailed as a witch without peer.” He turns around to face her, just in time to see her grit her teeth.

Archer walks towards her, towards the altar, away from his Master. He turns back to smirk at the boy, still peeking over the banister, to let him know that he isn’t deceiving anybody. Turning back to Caster, he says clearly, “If I may ask, Caster… do you still have reserves to spare?”

He’s braced for it, but the tidal wave of _hurt_ and _betrayal_ and _desperation_ from Rin hits him more painfully than any external force could ever hope to accomplish. He dimly hears Caster laugh, and say, “Of course! I’ve stored sufficient mana to sustain not only one more but all the Servants!”

He forces himself to think of Rin ( _don’t do this,_ he thinks he hears. _This is for you,_ he wants to say, but can’t), and of Saber (breathless and destroyed, immobile on the altar behind Caster). “Then that simplifies things,” he says, taking one more step forward. “I’m taking you up on your previous offer, Caster.”

“Even though you turned me down before?”

“The situation has changed.” _Don’t leave me,_ a small voice says in his head. “Considering the advantage that Saber confers, isn’t it only natural that I should side with you?”

A clink of metal. Rule Breaker materializes in Caster’s hand, and he takes the half second to scan it, to add it to his endless armory. “I distrust traitors,” Medea murmurs, eyeing the Dagger of Betrayal.

“As well you should,” he agrees. “I’m only yielding to you for my own benefit. There is no trust or loyalty in that.” _No trust… no loyalty?_ He presses on. “But is that not how Servants are by nature?”

“Very well,” Caster says. “I suppose I wouldn’t be much of a mage if I couldn’t keep you under control.” With one fluid motion, she raises the dagger over her head. “Thus, I shall play into your hands.”

She stabs Rule Breaker straight into his chest.

The last thing he feels from Rin is disbelief. No anger, no sadness, no pain. Just disbelief that it happened, that it was happening, that he would do that to her. Her Command Spells unravel from his being like a weight being lifted from his chest. Her mana is stripped away from him, to be replaced by something thicker, much denser, thick and viscous.

Now that he’s no longer bonded to her, he could appreciate that Rin had suited him as a Master like two puzzle pieces slotted together. Medea, on the other hand, trickles down the space she left behind. Her presence fills the void, but it does so in a way that mud fills a cup—she creeps along the boundaries, occupies every last bit of space available, leaving no room to breathe. And it feels _wrong_ , like something he has to wash out afterwards—

Behind him, he hears the boy shout Rin’s name and land on the ground. Kuzuki steps forward to fight him; he hears crashes and clatters and the sound of a projection. Rin hurries to help him, and he feels, for the first time, the rush of mana from Caster as she casts a spell towards them.

“So there’s that,” Caster says casually, watching them cower inside the circle of bone golems. “Though I did not expect your rude interruption, the outcome remains unchanged. I shall finish you here.”

He turns back to look at them; even without the mental link, Rin’s eyes burn with emotion, and something about her eyes makes it impossible to look away. “No. Wait, Caster,” he murmurs, not breaking eye contact with Rin. Out of his peripheral vision, Caster turns to face him. “I want to attach one condition to my joining your forces.”

“A condition?”

“I offered my freedom without resistance,” he says, as Rin helps Shirou stand, still glaring at him. “My price is that you let them leave.”

“Hmph,” Caster hums. “For all your words and actions, you’re rather soft.”

“What?” He shrugs. “I merely thought it would be wrong for a Heroic Spirit to cut down his heartbroken former Master.”

“It’s strange to hear common decency from a traitor’s mouth,” says Caster. The bone golems dissolve into a field of dust. “Very well. I shall let them go. But if they ever get in my way again...”

“Of course,” he says. “Fools who would embrace a hopeless fight deserve to be cut down without mercy.”

“Let’s go,” he hears Rin say. “For now, he’s right.” She turns around and walks away.

“Any anger you might hold for me is misplaced, Rin,” he calls after her. “This woman is simply the superior Master. That’s all. I side with the most powerful.”

“That may be true. ...But you’ll regret it. I’ll never quit.” She turns back around the face him, fire in her eyes. “You hear me? I’ll defeat Caster and take you back.” Something shifts in her eyes, and she repeats the words he had said to her, in a sitting room long ago:  “And when I do… no amount of apology will be enough.”

She turns around and walks away, Shirou hurrying to follow her. Once they’re out of earshot, he turns to Caster and says, “So. What now… Master?”

\--

Under the starry sky, the former Master sits back to back with the boy from the sunset. Not that he knows this, of course, but she’s still reminded of that high-jumping idiot from that day whenever she sees his orange hair.

She murmurs quiet confessions to him; of her ineptitude as a mage, as a Master. How she missed her Servant... how she’d failed. The boy keeps his back turned to her, as she’d asked. He whispers of regrets, and of brilliance, and the words he uses pulls at something in her memory.

She asks him why he’d saved her, and she hears a quiet clinking from behind her. Turning around, she sees him holding up a red gem pendant—the unique memento of her father. Before she can ask, the boy offhandedly mentions having another one just like it at home, that she could have it back.

The heir remembers the last time she’d held the gem pendant, handed to her by the Guardian who talked similarly of brilliance and regrets, with a plea for her to take care of it. Shrugging off the tidal wave of realization, she turns her attention to more pertinent matters and asks the boy once more.

_Why did you save me?_

And the boy in the sunset, the tone in his voice no different than it would be talking about the weather, tells a tale of his attraction to what he thought was a girl who didn’t notice him, how they had grown together, and how he eventually fell for her even more—

She turns around and pushes him over in abject embarrassment, shrieking whatever nonsense came into mind, anything to deflect from the situation. But the boy is merely defensive, if not a little disgruntled at her reaction, sitting back up. Awash with affection, she lets her face fall forward onto his jacket, hiding her blushing face.

And her heart still ached from the betrayal of the Guardian, from the memory of his sneering face. Watching his carefully blank face had been a source of endless amusement when he had been her Servant; as her Master, she could easily feel the nuances in his emotions even though he outwardly projected an aura of calm. But seeing the same frown from across that church hall, with a void in her chest where the bond had been, feeling only disdain—

But no, that couldn’t possibly be true. The Guardian who had once been this naive boy, who had tried his best to help everybody and ended up being shunned by his life, his ideal, his very _being_ —he still had that naivety, that belief, in him somewhere.

She clings tighter to the boy, forcing back the tears in her eyes, vowing to herself to do all she could to save him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he can’t help it, the smile that breaks through his face, the most severe happiness he’s felt in a while as he watches the truth sink into her— “I should have never become a hero.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unlimited blade works: the chapter.

Being Caster’s Servant isn’t that different from being Rin’s.

Or so he likes to tell himself, fifteen hours after his betrayal, and all he’s done as her Servant is stand guard in the Church’s bell tower, listening to the crickets be replaced by birds at sunrise.

(— _pointedly not looking at the spot where Saber had stood in the yellow raincoat, when their Masters had been different—nor the spot where she and Shirou had renewed their contract, while he and Rin burned with shared jealousy—_ )

When he gives up and heads back inside, he tells himself it’s out of sheer boredom.

“Go for wool and come home shorn, hm?” he says by way of greeting, looking down at his new Master, leaning against a pillar close to the altar, from where he definitely keeps his eyes away. “I see that even a peerless witch is surprisingly delicate.”

Caster looks up at him, annoyed. “I thought I told you to keep watch outside.”

“Oh, about that,” he drawls, leaning against the banister. “There are no enemies worth mentioning outside. I could no longer stand the boredom.”

“That is no surprise,” Caster says loftily. “The moment you changed sides, Berserker became our only enemy. Did you not side with me because you knew that?”

“Perhaps,” he allows. “Haven’t you even thought that I simply wanted to sever my pact with that Master? That I didn’t care who my Master was, if not that girl?”

“I see,” says Caster. “We as Servants are usually dissatisfied with our Masters. Are you saying that you are relieved at being freed from babysitting that little girl?”

A pang of hurt bites at him; he wills Caster not to feel it. He straightens up and prepares to leave. “A word of advice. Don’t assume that all Servants are like you. A righteous Heroic Spirit can serve only a righteous human.” He lets his eyes flick to Saber, just for a moment, but even the half-second glimpse manages to make his heart skip a beat.

“You do not need to tell me that,” replies Caster. “Twisted Masters summon twisted Heroic Spirits because of their nature.”

“Then it makes sense that such a witch summoned a fictitious Heroic Spirit,” he goads.

“I do not care what you think,” Caster says haughtily. “Your life is in my hands. Bear that in mind when you speak.”

“Understood,” he says. “Then, like the faithful Servant that I am, I shall strive to meet the expectations of my lord.” He turns to leave, pointedly keeping his eyes away from the altar.

\--

The door to the basement creaks as he opens it. Kuzuki sits in one of the armchairs, throwing him a glance. “Shouldn’t you be on guard outside?” he asks.

“I got tired of going through the motions,” Archer replies, entering the room. “Caster’s eyes cover the entire area around the church. My standing watch is pointless.”

“And you consider that justification to act on your own?” Kuzuki asks. “You’ve already proven to be quite a headache for Caster.”

“You needn’t be concerned on that count,” he says. “She has her watchful eyes on me as well. If she sees me acting suspiciously, I’ll be dispatched via Command Spell.”

“If you know that, then why are you here? You’ll be scolded for breaching her trust.”

“No,” Archer says simply. “I just figured I never had the chance to get to know you.”

Kuzuki finally turns to look at him. “I don’t see how knowing me would be of any benefit to you.”

“It isn’t about standing to gain anything,” he says, walking over to the armchair across from Kuzuki. “It’s… how should I put it? Like a loose end. Strictly out of curiosity. I just want to know your reasons, that’s all.” He levels the man with a glare. “Why would a man who isn’t a mage agree to this indiscriminate killing?”

“What is there to say?” Kuzuki says, his voice devoid of emotion. “My circumstances are similar to Emiya Shirou’s. By accident, an outsider like me came across Caster and became her Master.”

“You’re telling me you just happened to possess both the martial arts skills to kill a Servant and that spirituality of yours?” asks Archer.

“That’s right. A person, who was by some mistake raised that way, blended into society… and, also by some fluke, encountered things like you that do not belong here either,” says Kuzuki. “That is all it amounts to. In a big city where all sorts of people come together, indiscriminate killing is an everyday occurrence, albeit of a different degree.”

The last sentence tugs at his heart, a reflexive reaction to a betrayal of his ideal. “Pessimistic fatalism… is that what lies at your heart?”

“I’m not pessimistic, and I’ve never felt that the future is set in stone. I only live in the present. Speaking of my past is pointless. I lack what you people would call ‘criteria of right and wrong’.” Kuzuki looks down at a small brown leather-bound book on the table. “‘Letting people live is probably good, killing people is probably bad.’ Even though I know that, they seem equally valid to me, and I can’t judge which is better. I was someone who was incapable of telling which was right—good or evil. However, I can explain what I truly am. When I no longer resist killing, I will be evil, someone no longer fit to remain in human society.”

“I’m surprised,” Archer says honestly. “I never expected to hear a cold-blooded killer talk about ethics.”

“Even if I cannot sense what is right, I can still discuss what is right. It’s the same as a human speaking of the beauty of the sky, even though he cannot fly through it,” Kuzuki says reasonably. “I am merely a cold-blooded killer, born without reason and forgotten, without ever finding his use. Someone who has fallen between society’s cracks. Just like you people, I stand removed from the world.”

“That isn’t true,” Archer says. Kuzuki looks up at him. He continues: “Magecraft is something that has been handed down from the past. It has both history and motives. Even if it becomes obsolete, even if it dies out, it’s one of the rules that has always existed behind the scenes of human society. The teachings of magecraft are inhumane, but deep down, those who study it are more human than anyone. Were that not the case, the Holy Grail would not have been created. Mages fight in accordance with their own desires and for their own personal gain. And yet… Kuzuki Souichirou. You, who have no wish of your own, are different from the rest of us.”

“Is that so.” Kuzuki stands up, and wordlessly gestures for him to follow. “I thought I was like you, but I am the only one who is different? Still… I will correct that mistake. You said that I have no wish to be granted, but I do have a wish.”

“What?” Archer asks. Kuzuki leads them out of the side room and out to the courtyard, where he and Rin had only recently discovered Kirei’s bloodstain. A light rain is pouring, diluting the stain on the concrete, but it still catches the attention of the onlooker.

“I am someone who was never able to cultivate an identity,” Kuzuki says quietly, eyes on the bloodstain. “My own desires are indistinct. As a result—and it’s difficult for me to explain why—I wanted to make that woman’s wish come true. I believe this to be a humane desire.”

“Caster’s wish, hm?” Archer turns to look at him, the Master dragged into the Grail War. “Her goal is to win the Holy Grail for herself—to set herself free. You accept that?”

“That is not a wish. It is a duty to be carried out naturally in the course of her life. Even though Caster herself seems unaware of it, she simply wants to go home. She has never desired freedom.”

Kuzuki bows his head, as if shaking himself from a reverie. Such intimate insight into Caster’s psyche could only come from her Master, a Master who had experienced dreams of her, just as Rin had of him.

His tone shifts as Kuzuki says, “The decisive battle is almost upon us. Return to your post, Archer. If they haven’t given up, this will be their final chance.”

“I agree,” says Archer. “My assumption has been that they will attack at dawn.” He walks away, before stopping in his tracks. “I forgot to ask something. How do you define whether something is ‘right’?”

“Let me see,” Kuzuki stops to ponder the question. “It must be something that one does not regret, even if one has erred in one’s direction. I view good and evil as having equal value, so that is the only evidence of humanity in me that I see as worthwhile.”

Regret—there was that word again. Rin had asked him about it, the morning of the day he betrayed her. And while he had told her that his regrets no longer mattered, that was the whole reason he was here—to end his regrets before they even occurred.

And once he is gone from the world, it wouldn’t matter what regrets he might have had.

\--

Archer returns to his post at the bell tower, for lack of anything better to do. At dawn, almost on cue, Rin and Shirou approach. He jumps down to meet them; they stop after the gate, glaring at him.

“Knowing you, I was certain you would come,” he says, by way of welcome. “So, what little stratagem have you devised? You aren’t the type to make a challenge without a plan in mind.”

“Yeah,” says another voice, out of nowhere. Lancer materializes in front of Rin, smug grin on his lips. “For starters, I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m surprised. You made a pact with a new Servant mere days after losing me?” he says flatly. “I know I’m not one to talk, but your fickleness is astonishing. Perhaps leaving you when I did was a good idea.”

“Something about you always did irritate me,” Lancer scoffs, the line of his mouth changing to a disgusted scowl, “but you’re rotten to the core, aren’t you, bastard?”

“Oh? Does betrayal rub you the wrong way, Lancer?” Archer says, managing a smirk. “I see no other reason for you to take offense on her behalf.”

“It just pisses me off that there are Servants like you!” Lancer summons the familiar red spear, already changing stance to fight. Obligingly, Archer projects Kanshou and Bakuya.

“Lancer,” Rin warns, and the sound of her saying another Servant’s name so familiarly gets under his skin.

“You two get inside,” Lancer says, red eyes never leaving his own. “I’ll join you once I’ve dealt with this bastard.”

“Understood,” she says hurriedly. “But Archer— ”

“Yes, I’ll hold back,” Lancer drawls. “He’s gotta survive long enough to get on his hands and knees and beg you for forgiveness.”

Rin nods. “Thank you,” she says with feeling. “I’m glad you were the one who offered to help us.” Turning back to look at Shirou, she runs to the door, past both of them without a second glance.

“Man, this has turned to a mess, hasn’t it?” Lancer says casually, Gae Bolg still pointed at him.

“What has, Lancer?”

“It’s nothing,” he smiles innocently. “Speaking as someone who wouldn’t dream of casually betraying his Master, that little lady is pretty dazzling.”

“You’re so softhearted, Lancer,” he says, bending his body, ready to attack. “Have you heard the saying, ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’?”

Lancer laughs. “What are you talking about? Like I’d know anything about that!”

The tip of Gae Bolg flashes with mana right as Lancer charges; Archer meets him head on, and the clang of Kanshou and Bakuya striking Gae Bolg rings across the church grounds.

From the outset it’s immediately apparent that this fight is different from the one in the school grounds: Lancer is relentlessly offensive, giving him no time to breathe. Short to mid-range combat is the Lancer class’s specialty and the Archer class’s weakness, as he knows full well, but every time he tries to put more distance between them, Lancer uses his superior mobility to close the gap.

Lancer doesn’t hold back when he lands direct hits hard enough to knock him back, utilizing even his spear to vault closer to Archer. When Archer blocks a direct attack from above, he launches a kick upward, but Lancer balances on his spear and swerves away from it.

Archer lands away from the impact, still poised to fight, while Lancer slouches, Gae Bolg held loosely at his side, as though they were mere friends who had run into each other in the park instead of deadly Servants in the middle of battle. “Bit different from that other night, don’t you think?” he smirks. “Sorry I had to go easy on you last time. My Master imposed a ridiculous Command Spell that ordered me to return alive without killing any opponents.”

Archer exhales, his breath turning to mist in the cool night air. He is not out of breath; but that exchange of blows had been more intense than he’d expected. So Lancer had been holding back at the school. He would have to make full use of Mind’s Eye if he wanted to survive.

“But I’m not bound by that order now,” Lancer is saying. “This time, I won’t hold back...” And Lancer’s eyes only sparkle before he disappears, and even straining Mind’s Eye, Archer barely manages to bend over backwards to avoid the sudden thrust of Gae Bolg from behind. “...and I’ll kill you,” Lancer finishes matter-of-factly.

Lancer turns and kicks him as he’s still recovering, but he rolls through the impact and leaps into the air, finally getting the distance he needs. He projects a bow and rains down projectiles on Lancer, who blocks them all with Gae Bolg, the destruction of his swords producing a blue haze of mana that makes Cu Chulainn’s red eyes glow.

“I can’t figure you out,” Lancer continues casually. “You’re this skilled, but you chose to side with Caster? If you’d stuck with the princess, you probably would’ve been a match for her.”

“I hear you out, and you’re still going on about that?” Archer smirks. “I chose the option with the higher chance of success, however slight.”

“Is that so?” Lancer cocks his hip. “It was stupid of me to even ask.”

“Yes, well.”

“But there’s no honor in that.” Lancer points Gae Bolg at him. “You have a fatal lack of pride in your sword skills.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I am devoid of pride. But why does that bother you? Does it tarnish the title of ‘hero’?” He laughs. “Don’t make me laugh, Lancer. Dishonor can be washed away with success. Feed your unnecessary pride to the dogs.”

Lancer drops the tip of Gae Bolg, points it at the ground. “Dogs, you say, Archer?”

“I mean it, Cu Chulainn. If you have a hero’s pride, cast it aside while you still can.”

“Well said. Then you first.” Lancer leaps away and drops to the ground, a stance that can only mean one thing. “You’ve heard of my spear’s special ability, haven’t you, Archer?”

“Of course,” he says. “It has a cunning curse that reverses cause and effect. It’s certainly fearsome, but unless you get too close, it’s nothing but a sharp stinger.”

“True. But spears can also be used like this.” Lancer bows low, and Archer senses the change in flow of energy around him. “Here it comes. May this strike be your requiem.” Lancer bolts forward, leaping up in the air as the red spear bursts with mana.

Gae Bolg, the spear whose curse kills with a single blow. When thrown, it is an anti-army Noble Phantasm. It pierces the heart, hitting its mark every time. In which case, taking the blow head-on is the only option.

“ _Gae.. Bolg!_ ”

Lancer throws the spear, the magic concentrated along its length. Archer does what few other people would do at the receiving end of it: he closes his eyes.

_“I am the bone of my sword.”_ He visualizes the shield of the hero of the Trojan War, the ultimate protection against any thrown weapon, be it Noble Phantasm or not. “ _Rho Aias!”_

The seven petals of light blossom and unfold before him, seven layers each as strong as a fortress wall, ready to meet the force of the thrown spear. Archer reels from the projection of the shield—it takes over thrice as much to project the shield than any sword. But he digs his heels in and keeps up the supply of mana as the spear roars toward him.

Gae Bolg punctures through the first layer, then the next five in quick succession—the petals break as though made of glass, dissolving in a shower of pink mana around him. Not even Aias, which deflected the javelin of Troy’s greatest hero during the Trojan War, can take this?

He holds his right arm at the elbow, sustaining the last petal, staring up at the tip of the red spear through it. The petal buckles, and he screams with one final effort to repel it.

Everything explodes. The shield, the spear, his body, his _arm_. His arm is broken and bloodied, he can’t see out of one eye, and there are wet streaks down his body that must be blood. But he’s alive—and completely out of mana. He sinks to his knees; Gae Bolg silently returns to its owner, clacking on the pavement.

“I’m surprised,” Archer says casually, blood trickling down the side of his face. “To think there is a spear that can penetrate Rho Aias… the weapon you hold is mightier than even the original Gungnir.”

“Who the hell are you?” Lancer hisses, ignoring him.

Without missing a beat, Archer replies, “Just a simple bowman.”

“Nonsense,” Lancer scoffs. “As if bowmen carry shields that can withstand a Noble Phantasm.”

“Under the right circumstances, they might,” Archer agrees. “But you can see that it didn’t entirely work. Even though I expended most of my mana, one of my arms has been rendered useless, and my Aias was completely destroyed.” He scoffs. “Damn it, that was the most powerful defense I had. But enough about that, Lancer. Have you noticed? Caster must be hard pressed. Her prying eyes have stopped watching.” He holds up his arms in surrender as best he can, right hand still limping.

“Is that so,” Lancer says. “I thought that might be what you were up to, you sly bastard. That was your intent all along?”

“Of course. I told you, didn’t I?” Archer smirks. “I only use the means that give me the highest chance of victory.”

“Hmph. You sink lower each time, you bastard.” Lancer turns away. “But my job here is done.” He dematerializes.

Archer lets his arms drop, exhausted. He dematerializes as well, to be able to use mana to replenish himself more efficiently. He does so with reckless abandon, knowing he’s barely making a dent in Caster’s ridiculous supply. He heals his arm, his eye, and the numerous wounds across his body. He replenishes his stock of mana, back up to full.

Once he’s satisfied with his condition, he heads back into the Church, through the door and down the slippery steps. Voices drift up to him from the hall below: “...intervened, I would have been defeated.”

“Spare me the flattery,” Kuzuki’s voice drifts up to him, chastising Caster. “What you need to do now is to wake up Saber. Clearly, these are not opponents to be underestimated.”

Anger blinds him as he speeds down the steps, vaguely registering Caster state her approval. He arrives at the top of the balcony, in time to say, “Yes. If only it had come a few seconds earlier.”

And because this is the end, there is no longer any need to hide. In a clear voice, he says the incantation that started it all:

“ _Trace, on._ ”

The easiest way to take out a Servant is to take out their Master.

Nameless swords appear behind Kuzuki, hovering midair, ready to strike.

“ _Souichirou!_ ”

He hears the broken cry of Caster, but the swords are already plunging through flesh and bone—

When the smoke clears, the body impaled by his swords is not that of Kuzuki, but his Servant. Her hood was thrown off from the impact, revealing a beautiful, innocent-looking woman with pointed ears.

Medea turns back to her Master with tears in her eyes, the swords in her chest dissolving. She slumps forward to land on his chest, bleeding from the holes in her own.

“Are you unharmed, Master?” A broken whisper.

“Yes.” A quiet reply.

Caster smiles. “I am glad. It would not do… if you were to die. It is a pity, though. I had finally found my wish.”

“There is no need to grieve,” Kuzuki says quietly. “I will fulfill your wish in your place.”

“That is impossible. After all, until this moment…” Caster reaches up to hold her Master’s face, with a quiet murmur: “my wish… had already been granted.”

Medea fades from existence in a shower of mana, leaving her Master standing alone in the middle of the church, the wind from her disappearance fluttering around him.

His Master killed, Archer rematerializes in the back of the hall, feeling all eyes suddenly drawn to him.

“Archer...” Rin murmurs. “I’d always suspected this, but is it true?”

“We had a snake in our midst, didn’t we?” Kuzuki says, with surprising grace, although Archer’s pretty sure that isn’t what Rin meant. “This was your goal all along, wasn’t it, Archer?”

“Yes. But if I had to pick a metaphor, the Trojan Horse would be more apt. Since it was a hero of Greek myth who was just defeated.”

“I see. Letting a man like you into her ranks was Caster’s undoing,” Kuzuki says casually, walking towards him.

“If you want to continue this battle, I won’t stop you,” Archer says mildly. He projects Kanshou and Bakuya in preparation.

“Wait!” Shirou says, as Kuzuki passes him. “Why are you still going, Kuzuki? Caster’s gone. You shouldn’t have any reason to fight!”

“You’re right. I have no reason to fight,” Kuzuki replies, still walking. “Like you, I never had any interest in the Holy Grail.”

“Then why?” asks Shirou.

“This is something that I started. I took up this charge without caring about matters of good or evil. I can’t quit without seeing it through.” Kuzuki steps towards him, but without Caster’s reinforcement, his movements are easy to predict. Archer slashes at the muscle in his left forearm with Bakuya, disabling it. Kuzuki recovers and reaches out his right hand as if to grab at him—

It’s so _easy_ , to stab Kanshou through his chest. It’s always been easy to strike down emotionally compromised humans. Kuzuki staggers backward onto a pillar that disintegrates and buries him in rubble.

He hears a scoff and footsteps, walking away from him. Without turning to look, he can tell that the boy is walking towards the altar, as he had wanted to since Caster fell.

“Saber...”

The golden Servant stirs, and says “Shirou?” in a weak voice that breaks his heart from across the hall.

Unthinking, unfeeling, with only the objective that he set out to do branded into his heart, he projects three nameless swords, and throws them blindly at the altar.

Even in her weakened state, Saber throws herself on top of Shirou fast enough to push him out of the line of fire. The swords impale themselves in the carpet, right where Saber had been. Saber looks up at him, broken and indignant, and he manages to say: “Damn, I missed.”

“Archer! What do you think you’re doing?” Rin demands, as Saber struggles to her feet. “You can drop the act! Caster’s been beaten, so I won’t stand for any more of your nonsense!”

“You won’t stand for it?” he says, aiming for polite curiosity. “Why do I need your permission? You aren’t my Master.” With a burst of mana, he drops a circle of swords to encage Rin. It wouldn’t do well for her to get in the way of this, he thinks, not until Shirou dies. “My contract with you was severed.”

“No—why are you doing this, Archer? You still want to kill Shirou?” Rin demands as he walks past her cage.

“Yes,” he says, and Saber raises her sword in response. “I will kill Emiya Shirou with my own two hands. That is the only desire I, a man reduced to a Guardian, have left.”

Saber glances at her Master, still staring at him in disbelief, before turning back to face him. “Archer, I don’t believe it. You— “

“You once asked me this, Saber: ‘Have you no pride as a hero?’” he interrupts. “Of course I don’t. All I have left is foolish regrets. The thing is, Saber…” And he can’t help it, the smile that breaks through his face, the most severe happiness he’s felt in a while as he watches the truth sink into her— “I should have never become a hero.”

He sees the moment her heart breaks, the moment her grip slackens on her sword. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of those moments throughout the ages were what gradually turned his heart to stone, then to metal. One of those moments was enough for Saber—she shouldn't have to deal with what he did. “I suggest you stand aside, King of Knights. If you exert yourself with no Master, you will quickly disappear. Emiya Shirou is no longer a Master. Aiding him will not help your wish come true.”

“I swore that I would be the sword that protected him,” Saber says clearly, meeting his gaze. “Even without our contract, that pledge remains unchanged.”

“I see.” He projects both Kanshou and Bakuya. The motion is mechanical to him, now. “In that case…”

Archer steps forward, swinging both swords. Saber deflects them with a single swipe of Excalibur—as expected, she would not be caught off guard so easily. Here is a fight he is comfortable to take at close range—Saber is still very much weakened from spending almost two days resisting the full power of Caster’s Command Spells.

She tries to summon her armor, but even the basic spell is too much for her. Seeing an opening, he attacks again, only to be deflected. Saber falls to the ground under the weight of her sword, breathing heavily. Finally, she lets Invisible Air dispel, revealing Excalibur. He steps forward.

“Die here, along with your false Master.” He himself hears no emotion in his voice—for that he is glad. He points Kanshou at her.

A yell from off to the side announces Shirou’s attack—it’s laughable how he needs only to raise an arm to deflect the attack. “Oh? I expected you to cower a bit longer.”

“Shut up! You’re fighting the wrong person!”

Archer kicks him off, making him land six meters away with a thud. He walks over. “Your imitation is close enough to effectively be the real thing,” he commends. “But can your body handle that level of magical exertion?” The boy sits up, and clutches his head in pain—a migraine, brought about by projecting too much, too fast. “Using magic beyond your ability will destroy you. Or did you honestly think you would succeed? That if you stubbornly kept trying, your ideal self would come within your grasp?”

Shirou growls, and pushes himself up to fight once more.

Archer never attacks, only deflects and avoids. It would be easy to let the boy wear himself out to death, the same way he did himself, continuing to struggle until his very final moments, and even then no closer to attaining his ideal than he was when he couldn’t even fortify a pipe—

Shirou fights with wide open gaps in his stance, and Archer’s first attack—a Bakuya to destroy the weaker one, hits easily. “That is as far as Emiya Shirou can go. A fitting end for a fool who constantly tried to do the impossible.” He raises Kanshou to deal the final blow—

“I hereby propose,” a loud, clear voice says. “Your fealty shall be mine, and my fate shall be yours.”

A contract? It can’t be—

“If you heed the Grail’s call and obey my will and reason—”

Shirou stands up and tries to stab him with Kanshou, but he dodges out of the way to deflect it—

“Then obey me!” Rin says, from within her cage of swords, hand outstretched to the only other Servant in the hall. “Do so, and I shall entrust my fate to your sword!”

“On my honor as Saber, I accept your oath,” Saber swears, reaching out for Rin’s hand, the beginnings of another Command Spell already imminent on the back of it. “I accept you as my Master... Rin.”

The area explodes, and he thinks wildly of the impact of Gae Bolg on Rho Aias, then there’s a clatter of broken metal on marble. When the smoke clears, Saber stands across from Rin, now freed from her cage, and Saber herself clad in her silver armor.

She turns to face them, and immediately he can feel the difference between her power now and when she was summoned by a complete novice. Even so, he says, “What will it be, Saber? Now that you’ve made a contract with Rin, your ties with Emiya Shirou have been well and truly severed.”

“Weren’t you listening, Archer?” Saber says, as Rin steps out of her cage. “My pledge to Shirou stands.” She raises her sword in front of her, no trace of the helplessness from earlier. “And what will you do? Surely you do not think you can defeat me as I am now.”

He hums. “How confident you’ve become after simply having your mana restored.”

They come forward at the same time, clashing in the middle of the hall, and he attacks with all the speed he can muster. Saber dodges three attacks, not even parrying, and for a moment he feels like the inexperienced boy sparring against someone much more skilled—

Saber slices at Kanshou at an opening he doesn’t even notice, and he’s forced to step back and directly deflect an attack that Saber continues into, making the ground around them erupt in rubble.

“It’s over, Archer,” she says, when the smoke clears. “Earlier, you voiced concern for my wellbeing, but now I could say the same to you. You have nothing to anchor you to this world. And with no means of supplying yourself with mana, what can you do?”

“Servants of the Archer class have the ability to act independently,” he answers. “I think I can last two days or so without a Master. More than enough time to put down that boy.”

“Ridiculous. Do you still refuse to let go of that obsession?” Saber asks. “Are you saying your wish was never the Holy Grail, but killing Shirou?” He says nothing, and so she continues: “Archer, your wish is misguided.”

“Hm. Misguided, is it?” he muses. “You took the words out of my mouth, Saber. How long will you cling to your own misguided wish? Instead of lamenting your failure to leave a legacy, why can’t you look back and accept that you did all you could?”

Her expression softens, as though in surprise that he would know something so private. The realization that he, no matter how he is now, had been her Master in another life.

It hits him, then. Rin, Saber, and Shirou himself—the three people who knew best, who Emiya Shirou had been in life. The three people who deserved most to see what he had been in death.

 Making up his mind, he lets his twin swords clatter to the ground. “I am an Archer. I was never meant to fight using swords,” he begins. “Though admittedly… my bow is just as much as a borrowed forgery.” He summons the mana required to open his world, a beat drumming through the floor. It surrounds them with blue light, defining the Bounded Field for his Reality Marble. “I’m saying that I will show you my true nature. That is the greatest recompense that I can offer you.”

What better way to properly introduce himself than to show them his world? The representation of all he had, after the world betrayed him? He closes his eyes, and prays: “ _I am the bone of my sword._ ”

“Stop, Archer!” Saber says, raising her sword. “I do not wish to— ”

“ _Steel is my body, and fire is my blood._

_I have created over a thousand blades._

_Unknown to Death,_

_Nor known to Life._

_I have withstood pain to create many weapons._

_Yet, those hands will never hold anything._

“Saber.” He opens his eyes, meeting the golden Servant’s green eyes, ethereal in the blue flames of his magic. “One day someone will appear who will free you.” _Someone. Maybe not me, but… someone._ “But the sole objective of my current self is to kill Emiya Shirou. If you try to stand in my way, this world will not show mercy, even to you.”

And he turns back his focus to his Reality Marble, his Noble Phantasm, the only thing left to him: _“So as I pray, Unlimited Blade Works!”_

The ground erupts in a sea of flame and water, the very earth around them reconstructing itself according to his magic. A bright light blinds all four of them momentarily, and when it settles, the hall is gone.

A stormy sky, a barren landscape, clouds of gyrating tin and iron gears. An arid climate, littered with swords stabbing the ground, as far as the eye could see. The world sighs with the effort of accomodating additional entrants, and Archer sighs with it, letting its energy course through him. In Unlimited Blade Works, in all he’s ever known, there remains whatever sense of safety he could ever have.

“A Reality Marble?” Rin gasps, shaking him out of his thoughts. “A forbidden spell that causes the caster’s inner world to manifest itself and encroach on reality. Which means that you aren’t a swordsman or a bowman!”

“Yes,” Archer confirms, shifting his footing. “Before I became a Heroic Spirit, I was a mage in life.”

“Then what is your Noble Phantasm, Archer?”

“I owned neither a holy sword nor a demonic one. All I have is this world.” He gestures around, at the dimension that represented his life, dry and barren. “If a Noble Phantasm is a Heroic Spirit’s symbol, then this Reality Marble is my Noble Phantasm. It reproduces and stores any weapon whose original I’ve seen. That is my ability as a Heroic Spirit.”

“Then this...” Saber looks down, at the dry and cracked dirt at her feet. “You’re saying this desolate wasteland is the culmination of your life’s efforts, Archer?”

“Hm. You don’t mince words,” he says dryly, her words stabbing straight to his heart. “Care to test it, Saber? I’ll faithfully replicate that holy sword of yours.”

“My holy sword?” Saber’s grip on Excalibur tightens ever so slightly.

“Yes. It is a projection that’s certain to end in my destruction, but I can produce a convincing replica. It should last long enough to take you with me.” He visualizes Excalibur, almost absentminedly now—along with Caliburn, it had been his go-to sword to practice projection with, until he encountered Kanshou and Bakuya. “However, when two holy swords clash, who can say whether any humans in the vicinity will survive?”

“That son of a—”

He summons twenty swords, the large number effortless from within his Reality Marble, all pointing at Saber. The action uses up the last of his mana, but his Magic Circuits are used to such abuse that he barely registers the pain—it was, after all, the same kind of abuse that turned his hair white and his eyes gray. “Feel free to dodge them. But if you do, you will doom the man behind you.”

Archer throws the swords forward without raising a finger, and Shirou runs past Saber to meet them head-on—

—and Shirou _projects_ , faster than he should be able to do with his limited experience. He copies each sword that flashes towards him with enough skill that he breaks through Archer’s own projections.

With no mana to spare for further attacks, the blacksmith Heroic Spirit closes his Reality Marble. The world disintegrates in a flash of light, bringing all four of them back to the dusty church hall.

Nearby, Rin’s voice floats to him. He goes over to her side, grabbing her around the waist before she can react—

But then the golden Servant is in front of him, slicing at the arm holding her Master. Instinctively, he blocks the attack.

“Archer! What do you think you’re—”

He casts a simple sleeping spell into his palm, and touches the back of Rin’s neck. It would be much easier on everybody involved if she didn’t struggle, or so he tells himself. Behind him, the boy finally stirs, exhausted from overburdening himself. He jumps up onto the ledge, when Saber stops him.

“Where are you going, Archer?”

“What? Back to the drawing board,” he says, his back still turned. “After that gambit, I’m out of mana. I’m in no state to take you on at full strength. This is simply my insurance policy.” He can feel Saber’s eyes move to her Master, still slung over his arm. “If you value your Master’s life, I suggest you stay out of this, Saber. My objective is that boy’s—”

“The forest outside of town,” Shirou interrupts.

Archer pauses. “What?”

“There’s a castle there that’s empty now,” Shirou insists, ignoring Saber when she says his name pleadingly. “You want to give me a piece of your mind? Fine, let’s hear it. There are things I want to say to you too.”

Archer considers this. “True, we won’t be interrupted at that castle. I like your resolve, Emiya Shirou.”

“Shut up,” Shirou growls. “And don’t you dare hurt Tohsaka. I’ll kill you!”

“I’ll guarantee her safety for one day,” Archer allows. “Be quick, though. I won’t last longer than two days without a Master. If I can’t kill you by that time, I might just dismember my hostage out of spite.”

He’s bluffing, he tells himself as he bounds up the stone steps with Rin over his arm. There’s a visceral part of him that wonders if he could ever do that—to murder—?

He’s shaken from his thoughts by the presence of another Servant, just outside the Church. Looking around warily, he sees no one. He keeps walking forward until he passes the gate, and leaves in relative peace, undisturbed.


	8. intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She spits his class name like it’s a weapon, all sharp edges and intent to wound. Is it because she couldn’t reconcile the naive boy she loves with the cynical murderer that she sees before her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! early update today. just kidding, it's the shortest chapter; just getting shinji out of the way before we move on to the main event, amirite?
> 
> i got a comment on ffnet on the last chapter saying that they hoped to see something change soon and that it would be a waste if this was just a copy of UBW. seeing as how i can't reply to anons, i'd like to take this moment to address it.
> 
> first of all, i'm not changing anything. this fic was born from the idea that unlimited blade works as a story transforms completely after the reveal of archer's identity, as well as when you consider what he thinks of the events that transpire. in writing this i've learned so many things about archer and the intricacy that went into making both the VN and the anime, and i like to think other people have as well.
> 
> so i disagree that a straight retelling of UBW would be "a waste". i also disagree that this is "a copy"-- in events, yes, but that's sort of the point. the value added by archer's perspective on all these things we've already seen has been my favorite thing about writing this story. i'm sorry if this fic wasn't what you expected, but i love UBW and archer the way they are, and i'm not going to change either of them.

_This hill is his world—the ultimate result of his unending quest to help people. It seemed like he’d embraced this landscape and died with a smile, saying he was satisfied._

_Seriously? How stupid is that?_

_Anyway, that made me really angry._

_He worked and worked, striving for greatness even though he was ordinary, finally achieving his miracle as he bled. So it’d be unthinkable for him not to find his happiness. If he made lots of people happy, he should become at least as happy as those people combined._

_However, that wasn’t the reward he received. Instead, all he got was his exploitation as a Guardian, even after his death._

_...Why did I never put it together?_

_Servants are summoned from every age. Heroic Spirits can be summoned from the past, the present, or even the distant future. Nothing says a Servant couldn’t be summoned into the time when he lived, to the city in which he once lived._

_That thought frustrates me so much. Because neither one will be saved. Neither the one looking at his past self nor the one looking at his future self. All they can do is mourn what they’ve become._

_I already know how it will end for that fool who lives to help others._

_He voluntarily sacrificed his afterlife. If he could keep saving people, even after death, he could ask no more. Because of his powerlessness, he failed to save people in life. So, thinking that he could avert all kinds of tragedies as a Heroic Spirit, he sold the peace he would have found in death, believing with all his heart that he could save tens of thousands more lives._

_But even that hope was betrayed. Only one thing can be said about him: that he has been constantly betrayed by everything around him. And at the very, very end, he was betrayed even by the one ideal in which he believed._

\--

Rin is crying.

She is also unconscious, as she has been since they left the Church. But tears fall from her closed eyes, the corners of her mouth and her shoulders shaking in sobs, struggling against the ropes he’d tied around her.

She is no longer his Master. There should be no more mental link, no emotional transference, no dreams. But Archer looks at the tear streaks down her cheeks, and he knows instinctively that she’s not dreaming about Saber.

What is she seeing? Now that she knows his true name, she would be more attuned to his mind, had they still been bonded. Whatever it is, she cries for him—couldn’t she see in his memories how much crying he had seen, how much it still hurt him?

As if on cue, she opens her eyes. She looks up to where he’s slouching across a couch, as he had been when they first met as Master and Servant.

“What are you trying to pull, Archer?” she demands of him. “Shirou would have come after you whether I was here or not. You should know that better than anyone.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he allows. “But it would be inconvenient to have you in the way.”

“I see,” she replies calmly. “Then you intend to kill Shirou, no matter what, don’t you?”

“Yes, that naive boy should be put down before it’s too late,” he answers.

“I don’t need you to tell me that Shirou is naive,” Rin scoffs. She takes a breath, and says in one go: “But even so, I love that about him. That’s how he ought to be. It gives me hope that he has a place in this world. But what about you?” she demands, looking up at him indignantly, as his heart pounds treacherously in his chest ( _she loves him,_ something inside him screams, _she loves you, Emiya Shirou, the one you want to kill—_ ) “After all you’ve done, did you decide that waving self-indulgent idealism in people’s faces is wrong? After fighting for others time and time again, being betrayed time and time again, being forced to clean up other people’s messes time and time again—

“Did you lose your faith in humanity, _Archer_?”

She spits his class name like it’s a weapon, all sharp edges and intent to wound. Is it because she couldn’t reconcile the naive boy she loves with the cynical murderer that she sees before her? It isn’t a question he needs to answer. He makes to leave the room.

“‘I am the bone of my sword’,” Rin quotes, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s the incantation you were given after you became a Heroic Spirit, right? What the hell? It’s basically a curse.” Her voice breaks, and even without a bond, he feels the hurt in her voice. With renewed vigor, she continues, “I can’t come to terms with one single thing about your life. Not your idiotic way of living, nor the people around you who didn’t set you straight. Try as I might, I just _can’t_ come to terms with it.”

She’s sobbing near the end of it, forcing herself to get the words out. He can’t bring himself to look at her, to see the raw emotion on her face. This girl who had been his closest friend in life, trying and failing to understand how the boy she knew could possibly turn out like this.

_Because I didn’t have you,_ he thinks viciously. _Illya died. And Saber—_

_Saber disappeared._

He’s saved having to form a coherent response by the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down to the basement, and an unfamiliar voice saying, “Eh? What a surprise, Tohsaka! I was skeptical, but you really _are_ here.” A blue-haired boy steps out into the light, tossing his hair with a smug look on his face.

“Shinji!” Rin says, and Archer remembers. Matou Shinji, the adoptive brother of Matou Sakura. Rin had told him about Shinji, the Master of Rider, the Servant who died in the school.

“Visitors?” Archer says in disdain. “I came here because I thought we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Hey, now,” Shinji says innocently, raising his hands. “No funny business, Archer. I’m not interested in you.” He steps towards Rin, and all the warning sounds go off in his head; he waves them off. “In fact, I should warn you: you’re outmatched.”

Another man steps out into the light, and even without the massive Servant energy surrounding him, he could tell this man was another Servant. Blonde hair, red eyes. Shinji laughs maniacally, as though he’d just pulled out the greatest trump card. “You’re scared, aren’t you, Archer? My Servant dispatched Berserker without breaking a sweat. I don’t blame you for being scared of—”

“You want Rin, Matou Shinji?” Archer says loudly. Shinji stops with his arms outstretched towards Rin, and turns back to him, saying, “Of course I do.”

“Then wait until my business is concluded,” Archer says. “Once I’ve finished Emiya Shirou, she’s all yours.” Once he’s finished Emiya Shirou, he will cease to exist, and nothing should matter. “If you won’t agree to those terms, I’ll eliminate both you and your Servant.”

“Oh?” The blonde Servant fixes him with blood red eyes, challenging.

“Hold on, Gilgamesh,” Shinji interjects, casually throwing out his Servant’s true name. “It’s fine. He says he’ll give her to us, so let’s go along. We’ll keep Tohsaka safe until he’s dealt with Emiya, okay? Which means...” His eyes shine as if with a realization, and spins around to look back at Rin. “She’s already as good as mine, right? So I can do anything I want to her, right?”

“My agreement with Emiya Shirou was that she’d remain unharmed,” he says quietly. “But that expires at dawn. Once the deadline has passed, do as you will.”

Shinji laughs maniacally, and Archer tries not to regret what he said. Shinji turns back to Rin smugly. “Did you hear that, Tohsaka? Your Servant’s willing to sell out his Master!”

_She’s no longer my Master,_ Archer thinks, for no one to hear, alone in his head. His business concluded, he walks towards the door. As he passes the red-eyed Servant, he hears one word, murmured in disgust.

“ _Faker._ ”

He keeps right on walking, right past the other Servant’s smug smirk.

Gilgamesh of Babylon, Archer muses. The half-god, half-human ruler of the Sumerian empire. The King of Heroes, and the first ever Heroic Spirit, who kept an armory of the prototype for every Noble Phantasm that has ever existed, and will ever exist.

All except one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regular updates will resume on sunday as usual. see you then!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Counter Guardian stands on the peak of a hill, surrounded by swords impaled into barren ground. His red shroud is not around his shoulders; he needs no protection, not for common, harmless jobs like ritual manslaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rubs hands together] oh, here we go.
> 
> friendly reminder that this, and the next chapter, is the reason this fic is rated M! archer has quite literally gone through hell and back.

The sound of footsteps approaching from the foyer shakes him from reverie. When he turns around, the boy is there, along with Saber and another Servant, who materializes as Lancer.

Archer looks down at them pensively. “You certainly took your time getting here, Emiya Shirou.”

“Yes. It finally occurred to me,” Shirou says. “There can’t be two of those pendants. It was originally—”

“That’s right,” he interrupts. “After your life was saved, you carried it for the rest of your days. A memento of Tohsaka Rin’s father, unique in all the world.” He still feels the void over his chest, where he used to keep the pendant. “When summoning a Heroic Spirit, a catalyst is needed. But Tohsaka Rin did not have one for the invocation. Because of that, she assumed that she had no connection to the Servant she summoned. But no Heroic Spirit is summoned by chance. A link is always required between summoner and spirit.”

Saber perks up. “If Rin had no catalyst, that means...”

“Yes,” Archer cuts her off. “The summoned Heroic Spirit, not the summoner, possessed the catalyst.”

“The concept of time does not exist where the Heroic Spirits are concerned,” continues Saber, unperturbed. “Heroic Spirits from the past are treated identically to those of the future. In short...”

“Yes,” Archer says quietly. “It is possible to summon someone who will exist in the future.”

“Archer.” Shirou’s voice brings the two Servants back to the present. “Where’s Tohsaka?”

“I handed her over to Matou Shinji when he got here before you,” he says, and watches with a vicious relish as both Shirou and Saber’s faces contort with anger.

“You _what_?”

“Relax, boy,” interjects Lancer. “Leave the princess to me. I have my Master’s orders, you see. Keeping her alive has always been my reason for working with you. ...Actually, it’s been really nice. It’s rare for me to enjoy a task I’ve been given.” The spearman smiles at the boy, Gae Bolg still slung over his shoulders. “So until this is over, let me look after her. After that, we’ll be enemies again.”

A pause. “Take care of Tohsaka,” Shirou says quietly.

“Aye.” He hears Lancer walk off, then stop, presumably to look back.

“I shall remain here, Lancer,” says Saber in response.

“Are you serious?” Lancer asks. “The princess is your Master now.”

“I understand,” she says solemnly. “But I must bear witness to this battle.”

“Really now,” Lancer grins. “Have it your way, then.”

He hears Lancer dematerialize. Alone with Shirou and Saber, he asks her, “‘Bear witness’, huh? I’m glad to hear that. If you interfered now, severing my contract with Rin would have been for nothing.”

“Yes. Come what may, I will not interfere with your battle with Shirou. But in return, I want you to answer one thing.” Saber pauses, and whether it’s for his benefit or hers, he’ll never find out. “Why are you so intent on killing Shirou?”

“Why do you even ask?” says Archer, nonplussed. “Just as he can’t accept me, I can’t accept him. That’s all.”

“That cannot be true!” she insists. “You should embody Emiya Shirou’s ideals in the form of a hero. Why would that ideal reject itself?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t become a hero entirely on my own merits,” he says. Archer knows how she became a Heroic Spirit; it’s about time she learned how he did the same. “I’m nothing but a Guardian who became a hero by selling his posthumous self.”

“A Guardian?” Saber says, startled. “I heard that, after their deaths, Guardians become part of the Counter Force that protects humanity. Even if you followed a different path to become one, you are nonetheless a Heroic Spirit.”

He sighs, inaudible to either of them. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Saber. Guardians don’t protect humanity. They’re simply sweepers.”

“Archer...” she says his class name pleadingly, as if she can sway him to her side with a single word.

“You’re right,” he says loudly. “I did become a hero. Just as the man called Emiya Shirou always wished… I became a true champion of justice.”

“A champion… of justice,” Saber repeats the words slowly.

“And that is exactly why. I know that becoming one was a mistake,” he murmurs. “That man’s life had absolutely no value.”

“No value?”

“None. Surely you understand, Saber,” he says, looking to her, wanting to see the reaction on her face. “After all, you want to change the past—to take back your decisions—more than anyone.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, just like at the underground Church, still in disbelief that he had been privy to information that she held so close to her heart.

“Saber?” Shirou says hesitantly.

“What? You never asked her what her wish was? Why she desires the Holy Grail enough to commit herself to this pointless bloodbath?” Shirou is stunned speechless, and in that moment, Archer despises him even more. “Then allow me to tell you. She is—”

“Archer!” Saber says sharply. With a clink of armor, she turns back to the boy. “Shirou… I wanted to use the Holy Grail—the all-powerful granter of wishes—to undo a decision I once made.” To pull the sword out of the stone. To change, forever, the life of a simple farm girl. “I made a mistake—one that condemned Britain to destruction. And I fell before I could change that fate. That is why I want to win the Grail. I did not reach my ideal self. I should never have become king. ...But you are different.” Arturia turns to face the Guardian once more, to look him dead in the eye and say: “Are you not the ideals of Emiya Shirou fully realized?”

“The realized ideals…?” Archer scoffs. “It’s true that I did become my own ideal champion of justice. But as a result, I gained nothing but regrets.” He returns Saber’s look, daring her to contradict him. “Having made a pact with the Counter Force when alive, I became a Guardian after my death and acted on behalf of humanity’s Counter Force, fighting those who disrupted the world’s balance. Obeying my orders, I killed. And killed. And just kept killing. I killed so many I ceased to care. For every life I took, I saved thousands. I fought again and again, whenever I was called upon.

“Again, and again, and again...” In every country, in every timeline. In every scenario conceivable— “But there was no end to it. It was never over. It wasn’t as if I dreamed of a world free of fighting. I just didn’t want anyone to cry in the world I knew. That’s when it finally hit me: the ideal that Emiya Shirou clung to was but shallow idealism.”

“Why do you say that?” Saber’s voice breaks, and he wishes he could spare her this truth, the truth of what he’s become. But once he achieves his goal—once he is gone from this world—it would no longer matter. Nothing would… not even her.

“It’s impossible to save everyone,” he says, standing up. “Saving the many means leaving the few to perish. You should know that well, Saber. Those who were bound to fall from the seat of happiness, I quickly cut down with my own hands. That is the proper course of action for a hero—for that man’s ideal champion of justice. Saving as many as possible is what a champion of justice does, is it not? And so, still wishing for no one to die, I would have one person die for the sake of many. Even as I said that I couldn’t let anyone feel sorrow, I ultimately drove more than a few to despair.”

He steps out into the dim sunlight. “That is who I am,” he says severely, eyes locked onto the boy’s, gray on orange. “That is the Heroic Spirit Emiya’s true colors. Don’t you think the world would be better off if that man died right now?” Archer projects a nameless broadsword. Saber’s eyes widen as he throws the sword down towards Shirou, where it clatters to a stop right at his feet.

The Counter Guardian looks down at his former self. “Kill yourself, Emiya Shirou.”

The boy makes no movement, staring at the broadsword, his hair covering his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Archer asks. “Now that you know what you are, why hesitate?”

“Archer, you have not gone against your ideals,” says Saber, in a last-ditch effort. “Did you simply not lose your way when the very ideals you upheld betrayed you? Were that not the case, you would not consider killing yourself atonement for your sins.”

He laughs, with no real humor in it. “Oh, this is rich. Atone for my sins? Don’t be a fool, Saber. You’re right: I was betrayed and deceived countless times. You can’t expect anyone to understand a man willing to lay down his life for others. In the end, I was set up as the mastermind behind a conflict and sent to the gallows.”

“You must be lying, Archer...” murmurs Saber in disbelief. “That was how you died?”

“Hm. If I had any sins, surely I atoned fully for them in that moment,” Archer murmurs. “It’s not as if I ever wanted gratitude. I never wanted to be celebrated as a hero, either. I simply wanted an outcome where everyone was happy. But that was never given to me—neither in life nor afterward.”

His life, he had spent roaming the lands, giving help wherever he could. He lived, almost literally, off the scant kindness of the people he helped, who were willing to extend their hand to a weary traveler with the figurative weight of the world on his shoulders. He had lived, and he had even loved, only to be betrayed to his death by the man he thought he had loved, and who loved him.

And all too suddenly the figurative weight on his shoulders became literal, as he offered his being to the World in death.

“I knew that Guardians were, essentially, automated defense mechanisms,” Archer continues out loud. “That after death, those who offer themselves to be Guardians are removed from the cycle of death and rebirth, becoming tools that safeguard human history. I thought it would still be worth it if I could save someone—one person who was in trouble. But it’s nothing like that!” he bites out bitterly. ”Guardians don’t save humans. Guardians simply clean up their messes. They’re beings that use their power to negate events that have already transpired—disasters of humanity’s own making. They’re butchers that kill anyone who threatens the human world, with no regard for good or evil. What a joke. How is that any different from when I was powerless?”

Saber looks at him with pity in her eyes. “To save as many lives as possible. ...Are you saying that you were unable to fulfill that wish even once?”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ve culled the very people I wanted to save. That was where my ridiculous ideal of becoming a champion of justice ultimately led. I’m sick of cleaning up after humanity. But as a Heroic Spirit, I’m doomed to repeat that for all eternity. I’ve already given up my agency. The only way I can think of to disappear completely would be...”

“If you kill a human destined to be a hero, you think it will be as though that hero was never born?” Saber completes for him.

He bows his head minutely in acknowledgement. “My only hope has been to wait for the opportunity—for this day to come.”

“It will not work,” Saber insists, moving forward to step between him and Shirou. “You already exist as a Guardian. You are outside the confines of time. Even if you eliminate this Shirou, you will not disappear.”

“That may be true,” he agrees. It’s a possibility he’d entertained, but chose not to consider. “But it isn’t beyond the realm of possibility. If I destroy not only his flesh but also his spirit, at the very least, his mistaken ‘champion of justice’ will not appear in this world.” He looks back at the boy, who has been quietly listening to them. “What’s the matter, Emiya Shirou? If I’m so unacceptable to you, kill yourself right here and end it!”

Slowly, the boy kneels down to pick up the broadsword, turning it over in his hand. His former Servant turns in surprise at the sound. “Shirou...”

The boy ignores her, and says, “Archer, do you have regrets?”

“Of course I do,” the Guardian replies.

Shirou exhales, as if in relief. “Then I guess we’re two different people after all.”

“What?”

The broadsword clatters to the ground. “No matter what happens, I’ll never regret a thing,”  Shirou says, looking straight at him. “And that’s why I’ll never accept you. If you’re my ideal, then I’ll just have to get rid of that misguided ideal myself!”

“That way of thinking is how all of this began,” Archer says wearily. “One day, you will reach the point where you become me.”

“I won’t,” the boy says stubbornly. “That day will never come.”

“That’s right. I suppose it won’t. If you won’t run from here, in any event, you have no future.” He walks down the steps, and Saber, as if on instinct, moves to stand in front of Shirou.

“Archer,” she warns.

“It’s okay, Saber. Thanks.” Shirou walks forward and puts a hand on the knight’s shoulder, stepping past her. “But please, step back. This is a fight I need to have.”

“” _Trace, on._ ””

Two pairs of the harmony swords appear in two pairs of hands.

“Can you keep up with my blade works?” Archer challenges. “If your precision wavers even slightly, it will spell your death.”

Shirou runs at him, and immediately he can see the improvement in his stance. The gait of someone used to getting outsped, outmatched in sparring—trying hard to be efficient, but not there yet. Archer blocks the first attack and keeps running, flashsteps to the other side to attack him from behind, but the boy blocks that, so he disengages—

The boy’s eyes widen as his opponent disappears, forgetting that he is a fully fledged Heroic Spirit who could dematerialize at will. Archer reappears behind him, but Shirou slashes at his swords and deflects his attack with too much force, knocking himself backward on the marble.

Archer jumps, and the boy can barely block his attacks, so Archer elbows him, making him topple to the ground. He raises the twin swords, ready to accept his defeat—

And the boy is winded, but his own swords are still in his hands as he stands up.

“He’s running out of mana!” Saber calls.

Archer grimaces at how they never learned to use their bond properly. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he says. “Even if my Archer-class ability to sustain my life reaches its limits, given the vast difference in our fighting abilities, it won’t even prove to be a handicap. And, Emiya Shirou… it doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to die.”

To illustrate his point, he flashsteps over and pushes Shirou over without using his swords, and the surprise breaks his projections. Shirou swears and shucks off his jacket, projects a new pair of blades.

He lets Shirou run at him, and this time, the boy attempts to use wider slashes to attack. Indulging him, Archer uses the same technique more efficiently to block him, and to send him careening back once more. His second projections disappear, much more quickly than the first, but the third pair is projected just as sloppily—

Archer jumps, and Shirou raises his new swords just in time to block it. “Did you really think your projections were on the same level as mine?” he asks. “While you may mimic the appearance and material features of the original, if the structure isn’t logically sound, it’s worthless.”

The boy swears and jumps at him with his Bakuya—Archer raises his Kanshou to take the hit directly. Projection of the husband hits its wife, and both blades and owners feel the resonance of the swords as they resist each other—how could one Bakuya not recognize a Kanshou? This is not its twin, it is not logical, _it should not exist_ —

Shirou reels from the sword’s resistance, but Archer barely registers it. He kicks away Shirou, and rushes at him again, and every contact of their swords sends a pulse of mana back at him, as if reacting to the contact.

He plants one foot in the ground and slashes with both swords in a cross, right across Shirou’s heart. The blades shatter—

Another pulse of mana flows through Shirou’s Magic Circuits, projecting another pair of swords, and he plants his foot in a familiar way, and Archer is knocked back, for the first time in the fight.

“Now I get it,” he says coolly. “That explains why you’re so tough. I’ve heard of magic that enables you to master old skills by communing with selves from past lives and letting them possess you. It appears that every time our swords clash, your skills are being honed.”

“Is that so,” Shirou says. “Then I guess we’re both copycats. Keep talking tough. I’ll catch up to you soon enough!”

“Catch up to me? You have it completely wrong. You truly don’t understand anything.”

“What do I have wrong?”

Archer steps forward, raising both swords as Shirou blocks them both readily. “Your bellief that you ever had the slightest chance of winning!”

Their blades clash—

 

.

.

.

_This is how it all ended for him?_

_I don’t feel sorry for him._

_I don’t feel sorry for him._

_I don’t feel sorry for him!_

_But… when I think that my feet will be taking me down his path, my heart feels like it will break. When I see what you believed in—what you believe in—is nothing but a pipe deam wrapped in lies, I—_

Kanshou breaks through a Bakuya it never knew, throwing the boy back on the ground once more, this time moving further backwards, as if afraid of further attack.

“Shirou!” Saber cries.

Ignoring her, Archer says to the boy, “Judging by that pathetic expression that says you’re about to vomit, you saw it, didn’t you?” Wordless, the boy glares back up at him, left eye swollen almost  closed. “That simplifies things, then. Everything you saw is true, Emiya Shirou. That’s what ‘catching up to me’ will get you. You should see it once more, with your own eyes...” And the hall is filled with blue fire as he summons as much of his mana as he can: “...the world where I ended up.

_“I am the bone of my sword._

_Unknown to Death. Nor known to Life._

_Unlimited Blade Works!”_

The fire flares up, once again blinding all three of them in the hall. His world of rusted gears and swords impaling the ground, far as the eye can see, emerges when the light dies down. He stands atop a slope, looking down at the boy, still on the ground, glaring at him.

“The foolishness of appearing here, knowing you’re no match for me… You’re a sham who’s never had a goal of his own, obsessed with a stupid ideal his entire life,” Archer says. “Is it finally clear that’s who you really are? The need to save people simply because you want to is a faulty emotion. You’re fundamentally broken as a human being—a fake that should never have existed. Such a life holds no value at all.”

Shirou looks up at him indignantly, but Archer continues: “I am your ideal. It should be clear by now that you’re no match for me.”

_A noose hung tight around his neck—_

_A widow, grieving over the sight of her dead husband—_

Shirou screams, a bloodcurling sound of rejection, that he’d heard from his own mouth too many times, when he still clung to his ideal so tightly. The boy runs up the slope and attacks, so sloppy that Archer only has to raise one sword to block two.

“I see,” he says quietly, as the blades clash against each other, Shirou struggling to break through his sword. “Your refusal to accept me is only natural. As long as I am your ideal, you, Emiya Shirou, must reject me more than anyone.” He flicks his arm, forcing the boy to slide back down the slope. Off-balance, Shirou stumbles up, still trying to fight—

Archer locks Shirou’s wrist with his own, rendering his left hand immobile. “Then let me ask you. Do you really want to become a champion of justice?”

“You’re asking me that now?” Shirou hisses. “I don’t _want_ to become one. I _will_ become one!” Shirou attacks with the opposite hand, and Archer locks his wrist with the other in the same way, forcing them to stand back to back.

“Yes. You must become one, no matter what. And that is because… it is the only emotion Emiya Shirou possesses. Even if it isn’t something that comes from within himself.” Shirou struggles behind him, but he’s no match for his strength. “Oh? From your reaction, it seems like you have always suspected it.

“I no longer remember much of my past. But nevertheless, I remember that scene. Flame as far as the eye could see. The pervasive stench of death. Wishing for help when all hope was lost. What I felt when that wish was granted.

“The look of relief on Emiya Kiritsugu’s face when he saved me. That is where you began. Your gratitude for being saved was nothing but an afterthought. You simply admired Emiya Kiritsugu. Because he looked so happy when he saved you, you were convinced that you wanted the same thing.

“It’s only natural for children to idolize their parents. But what he left you when he died was a curse. From that moment, you had no choice but to become a champion of justice. Your ideals are secondhand. Ideals that Emiya Kiritsugu failed to live up to. You’re just copying what he believed was right.”

“That’s not...”

“A champion of justice? Don’t make me laugh.” Bitterness seeps into his voice, unbidden. “All of your talk of wanting to help others wasn’t something you decided yourself. Someone like you thinking that he could save anyone… That’s the height of hubris!”

Archer moves his right wrist, fully cracking through Shirou’s sword. He spins Kanshou around to hold it backhanded and stab through Shirou’s thigh, and is rewarded with an agonized scream.

“That’s right,” he continues, looking down at the boy on the ground, clutching his bleeding leg. “I admired his wish to help others because it was so beautiful!” Another slash; Shirou scrambles to his feet, backing off. “Consequently, I had no emotions of my own! If that isn’t hypocrisy, what is?” Every word is punctuated with a blind attack. Shirou holds up his swords to his chest; futilely defending against centuries upon centuries of built up anger that he could finally feel, to show his younger self how much the ideal he so cherished had hurt him.

“Driven by my obsession with helping others, I strove toward that goal, fully aware that it was the height of arrogance!” And it’s easy, now, to stab the white sword through the boy’s stomach with no resistance. Saber’s voice rings out, calling Shirou’s name, and it breaks his heart as it _always does_ , but it doesn’t matter now, so close to the end—

“In the end, a fake’s a fake,” he continues. “Hypocrisy like that can’t save anyone. No… you won’t even know what you ought to save. Look! This is the result! Know that an embodiment of cruel justice that never knew how to save—never _had_ anything to save—is what you will ultimately become!”

One last attack, to destroy the boy’s Bakuya, and soon, the rest of him. “Your ideals are bankrupt. The idea that others are more important than yourself—the wish for universal happiness—is just a fanciful fairytale. If clinging to that dream is the only way you can live, then _let those ideals drag you to your death_!”

The projections fade from Shirou’s hands, and the blood from his stomach stains the barren landscape red.

 

.

.

.

He has seen Hell. It was in a quiet caravan, crossing the border of a country, five men bleeding from arrows in their heads.

He has seen Hell. In a bunker full of hopeful survivors who thought they were safe from the bomb, unaware of the deadly disease they still carried within them, and the Counter Guardian around the corner.

He has seen Hell. A lone tree in the middle of a desert, surrounded by bodies, impaled by any number of lethal arrows, baking in the heat haze cast by the sun.

He has been through Hell, since that day he made the contract with the universe, on the brink of death.

 

.

.

.

… A Counter Guardian stands on the peak of a hill, surrounded by swords impaled into barren ground. His red shroud is not around his shoulders; he needs no protection, not for common, harmless jobs like ritual manslaughter.

The boy stands behind him, out of place, in the world the Guardian had made for himself. Quietly, he says, “You were… well. I guess you were right.”

“Maybe I could’ve handled things better,” the Guardian concedes.

“You seem to have lost many things.”

“You have it wrong.” His voice is softer than the boy had anticipated. “I’m here because I was stubbornly insistent on losing nothing. ...I didn’t lose anything. Ah, but… yes, there is one thing. There is one thing that I forgot.”

At the very beginning, he saw that Hell. Walking alone through the fire, trying desperately to ignore the cries for help of the people he walked past—trapped by debris, crippled by burns that seared their limbs. He had covered his ears, as though that would be any help, as if mere flesh and bone could have stopped the sounds from reaching his ears.

Even now. He watches the boy call out to the child: “Hey. That’s Hell you’re walking into.” The child trips, his tears falling into the ash, but he gets back up again.

_What was the point of your… what was the point of_ my _surviving that hell? Why were we spared?_

The boy crosses over piles of ash and rubble, running towards the child, and the Guardian can’t just watch. Even now.

“Hey,” the Guardian calls, “That’s Hell you’re walking into.”

And even from behind, he can tell that Shirou smiles, as if at a small, private joke. “This is what you forgot,” he says. “I admit that at first it was just admiration. But at the heart of it all was a wish. The wish for this Hell to be undone. The unfulfilled wish of a man who only wanted to help others, but who lost everything in the end.”

In the distance, tears fall down Emiya Kiritsugu’s face as he finds the sole survivor of the fire. They watch as Kiritsugu imbues the survivor with the fallen king’s scabbard. Archer watches as Shirou focuses on the essence of Avalon within him, as he himself had done an eternity ago at Caster’s temple, and walks forward, into Hell.

To the top of a hill, where a single sword stood impaled into the ground.

_Even if that life will be that of a machine?_ he asks.

_Yes. Even if that life is dripping with hypocrisy._ Shirou takes hold of the handle of the sword. _I’ll keep striving to be a champion of justice._

 

.

.

.

_Her scabbard_ , he thinks, eyes flicking over to the golden Servant, still obediently not interfering in her Master’s fight. The link to Saber that Kiritsugu implanted in him to save his life. That is a sacred relic, not something that was summoned. Even with the contract severed, it continues to protect him. There should be no link between the boy and the knight, no way for this to happen. And yet his wounds were closing still, healed by a bond that defied time and magic.

Shirou looks up at him, with eyes ablaze in newfound vigor. “ _I am—_ ”

“You wouldn’t!”

“— _the bone of my sword._ ”

He throws the twin swords at the boy’s head, hoping to distract him enough to make substandard projections—

“I can’t be… beaten by _you!_ ”

And Shirou slices through the projections aimed right at his head, deflecting them as Archer had done to his own. He rises to his feet, fully healed. “I don’t mind losing to someone else. But I won’t be beaten by myself!”

Archer scoffs. “So you’ve finally got one foot in the door. But what of it? It should be perfectly clear by now that the difference in our skill is like night and day.”

“My arms and legs still work,” Shirou insists. “It was my spirit that was beaten. My spirit was weak for accepting that you were right.”

“What?”

“Being right isn’t everything. I don’t care about that. I’ll become a champion of justice. Just as you reject me, I’ll use every ounce of my strength to defeat the me that is you!”

Shirou charges at him once more, their blades clashing as Archer blocks the attack. The boy’s attacks are inefficient, as they have been, but the force of one makes cracks spread through his projections. Surprised, he pushes Shirou away, and repairs his blades, looking back at the boy with renewed rage.

“Ridiculous! So utterly, pathetically ridiculous!” The boy is winded, just from that bit of fighting, and rage flares in the Guardian, that he still dared to fight. “I can’t even stand to look at you anymore! This is the height of stupidity, Emiya Shirou! You’ll become a champion of justice? Being right isn’t everything? Given what you now know, why can’t you see that you’re mistaken?” Archer demands. “Justice is a representation of order. Saving one and saving all are two different things. They are mutually exclusive! The more you strive for proper salvation, the more you’ll be consumed by your own contradiction! You’ll end up a simple killer for hire!

“If you’re unable to see that, then die. Be smashed to pieces, along with your ideals! Burn out before you can achieve anything! Yes—if that happened, my erroneous existence would vanish like mist. I’ll wipe out any trace that you ever existed… with my own two hands!”

The boy runs up at him on the slope, where he’s been standing for majority of the fight. But in less than five hits, he’s forced to jump and dodge as Shirou aims for his legs, then slashes to his left. His position compromised, he’s forced to fight more dynamically, blocking and attacking from above and below rather than forward and backward.

“You little—” He deflects an attack by throwing Shirou down then charging at him, but is forced to block as Shirou jumps and aims at his head with Kanshou.

Why is he even bothering to fight him fairly? If he took a few steps back, this would all be over. But something tells him that if he takes even one step back, it would mean admitting his defeat in a crucial aspect!

No, this is all but over. He kicks Shirou away; he’s already dead on his feet. This is the final—

Shirou’s grip tightens around his Kanshou, and Archer grows more annoyed. How many times will he seemingly land the final blow before he learns his lesson? He won’t stay down. He won’t reach his limit. He’s long since gone past it. And that’s because the thing Shirou is attempting to cut down stopped being him long ago.

He knows it. He knows that haggard look all too well. He knows too well the man with an indomitable spirit who was never defeated, who never gave up. The cruel embodiment of justice who struggled toward the idea of saving all, even as it was shared by none…

The idea that perhaps it is possible to save all who suffer; he knows that sinful manner of living all too well. In the early days of his Counter Guardian life, when his body count was still no more than fifty, living amongst refugees, thinking that maybe, his ideal could still be salvaged—

That figure, knowing he cannot win, knowing it is meaningless, yet continuing to fight all the same… that symbolizes the very mistakes he made. So why…

“No. The result will be the same,” he says, although he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince at this point. Around him, he projects nameless swords. “You’ll fall into despair, just as I have!”

Shirou deflects the swords he throws, and when the smoke clears, he clutches a broken Kanshou. For him to hang on to a battered blade could only mean one thing—

“How ironic,” he says, “your mana gave out before your spirit did? That blade is the only weapon left to you. In any event, Emiya Shirou’s battle ends here!” He projects twenty-four swords, the exact number of years it took for his ideal to betray him in life, just so it could continue to betray him in death—

“Yeah, you’re right. My wish is a fake… but I found it beautiful.” The boy stands up, his left arm broken, his right hand holding on to the broken Kanshou. “I understand that putting others before myself is hypocritical. But even so… even so, the thought of being able to live like that inspired me. ...Even if my life is a sham, the wish for others to be happy is still beautiful. I won’t lose anything. Even if I’m being foolish, I won’t turn back. I know my dream isn’t…”

_It isn’t wrong._

“Even if I’m a fake to the very end… I know my dream isn’t a mistake!”

Unlimited Blade Works falters. Not because of Archer’s depleting mana pool, but because it finally seems to realize that another version of its owner had stepped into it. Another owner who is vastly different from its original caster, whose life is not that of dreary skies and barren land. An owner who did not believe— _would not believe, would_ never _believe_ —that he would ever turn back from his ideal.

The world shakes around this owner, hastens to change to conform for him. Clear blue skies, fresh air—

_The moon in the sky, a dying man who wished for nothing more than for the boy he saved from the flames to live a happy life—_

And the Counter Guardian feels the effect of the boy on his world, the world that is tied to his very essence, denying him just as much as the boy did—

He grunts from the effort of projecting a world that is starting to resist him.

_“Begone!”_

Twenty-four swords rush to meet the boy, who runs towards them without hesitation. And Archer can feel every step, every impact of his foot on the ground—his idealist, whole, naive self resisting the brokenness of the world around him.

It’s nothing to the boy to slash the swords aside, deflecting and blocking them as though they were but sticks blowing by in the wind. Archer takes out bigger, and bigger, and bigger swords, until they are bigger than Shirou himself, but even those are blown away by the single cracked Kanshou—

The boy catches up to the Guardian on top of the hill. He thrusts the white blade forward, and the other raises his own—

_I’ll do it for you,_ a child says brightly, to the smile of a man whose life had long since left his eyes. _Just leave your dream to me._

_...Talk about cruel. I’m being made to look into an old mirror._

There really was such a man once, wasn’t there? A man who believed that his ideal was beautiful, and that becoming a champion of justice was a dream worth chasing. A man who believed that no matter what happened, no matter how much he was hurt, he would keep fighting.

…Man, he could be so stubborn.

But wasn’t it that stubbornness, that determination, that kept him going? Why had he stopped believing? It was a beautiful dream. It _is_ a beautiful dream.

Why should he destroy a version of himself, who still believed in that dream?

The Guardian drops his arm. The boy pierces his stomach through with the cracked Kanshou—his first hit.

Blood drips down the white blade, onto the marble floors of the Einzbern castle. As the world reforms around the three of them, he hears the gasp of the golden Servant upon seeing them again.

“I’ve won, Archer.”

“...Yes. And I’ve lost.”

He lets his Kanshou disappear—there was no more fight to be had. The boy stumbles backwards onto the marble, following suit, gasping for breath.

“Shirou! _Archer!_ ”

They both turn to the source of the voice: Rin, whole and undamaged, running towards them. “Shirou, are you alright?” she says worriedly, to the boy on the ground. Looking up at him, her eyes widen at the gaping wound in his stomach. “Archer, how did you get hurt like that?”

“Really. So sentimental. If this girl had just been a little more callous, I never would have reverted to my old self,” Archer scoffs, every small movement amplifying his pain. “In any case, the matter’s been settled. Now that I’ve accepted you, the hero Emiya can no longer stay here. The defeated should take their leave at once.”

He doesn’t have to look at Shirou to know that he’s giving him a look he doesn’t want to see. “Hey...”

“Archer!”

He turns to look at the golden Servant, quiet until now. He doesn’t know what he expects to see—pity? Sadness? Should he even expect to see anything for him, instead of the boy knocked down next to him? But she’s looking to a point behind him, alarm in her eyes, Invisible Air drawn—

And then, his chest is ripped apart from the inside out. It’s the kind of pain he’s experienced before, the kind of pain that precedes large amounts of mana to heal. With the Counter Force, he had had that in infinite supply, but here, without a Master, he does not have that luxury. He gasps, taking a moment to make sense of the pain—three swords right down his spine.

“That was most entertaining,” Gilgamesh says loftily from behind him. “A truly pointless fight between two fakes.”

Saber bristles. “It can’t be! You’re—”

“How long has it been, Saber? Ten years?” Gilgamesh continues, indifferent to her hostility. “So, do you finally comprehend the difference between your imitations and the genuine article? No matter how closely you copy the shape or power, an imitation will never shine as brightly as the original. The mere sight of fakes crafted by fakes sullies my eyes.” Gilgamesh’s eyes rove over them, coming to rest at the impaled Guardian. “...Scum. Shams who do naught but copy others should return to the dust whence they came.”

The Gate of Babylon opens all around him, each with a Noble Phantasm-rank weapon that could easily kill both of them, the scum that Gilgamesh so despised—

There’s no time to hesitate. Archer shoves the boy back, out of the way, murmuring: “It’s up to you… to defeat him.”

Dozens of golden spears explode as they make contact with his body, burning through the last reserves of his mana, his last anchor to this world.

The last thing he hears is his Master’s bloodcurling scream, calling his name, echoing off the walls of the hollow hall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;---------;
> 
> a few notes about this chapter:  
> \- the circumstances of archer's death are told in more detail in fate/extra, so that's where those additional details are from.  
> \- archer dying at 24, on the other hand, is a headcanon of mine. i did actually pause at that frame to count how many swords he projects to attack shirou with, so... i know it's not much to go off of, and i'm aware that it's very easy to refute, but.... still. just a headcanon. :D feel free to comment your reactions and such, but i'd like to say that my beta has already disagreed with me on this, lol.  
> \- this is the second to last chapter for the ubw route! see you next week for the finale :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I am the bone of my sword_   
>  _Steel is my body and fire is my blood._   
>  _I have created over a thousand blades_   
>  _Unaware of Loss, nor aware of Gain._   
>  _Withstood pain to create many weapons,_   
>  _Waiting for one's arrival—_   
>  _I have no regrets. This is the only path_   
>  _My whole life... was Unlimited Blade Works._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the finale.
> 
> (cw for suicide ment near the end as archer talks to rin.)

The Holy Grail is activated by feeding it the souls of the Masters and Servants of the Grail War. Reduced to little more than a speck of energy within the unstoppable force that is the Grail, Heroic Spirit Emiya can do next to nothing but wait for the Holy Grail to activate, to consume him and return him to the Throne of Heroes.

 _Finally got your chance, didn’t you? How’d that go?_ A playful voice snickers at him. _Just kidding, I know. I watched it all happen. You failed._

The voice laughs; the Guardian doesn’t honor it with a response.

 _You’re just gonna go back to the Counter Force after that?_ the voice persists. _To the humans that betrayed you, over and over? When you still have nothing to fight for?_ Reflexively he thinks of Rin, of the hollowness in his jacket where he’d kept the gem pendant. The voice (the Grail, he guesses) is only amused. _Ah, but she’s not fighting for you, remember? She’s fighting for_ her _Emiya Shirou. The one you lost to..._

But that’s not true. He remembers that moment at the Einzbern castle, when she had been unbonded to him, and yet she had dreamed of him. A dream of that which he had held so close to his heart that he thought no one else would ever see those thoughts, not even a Master.

And that is solid, unshakeable proof, is it not? That there is something that holds them together. Something stronger than any magical bond the Holy Grail could forge—something that transcended timelines, worlds.

 _Destiny?_ the Grail scoffs. _You believe in that shit? You, the cynic who has nothing left?_

 _I have her,_ he thinks viciously. _I have her. She wouldn’t have left me if she’d known—and she won’t leave me now that she knows!_

And suddenly he’s that boy that stood on top of a barren hill, pulling out the sword from the ground, holding a promise to himself like a talisman in his heart—that his dream is beautiful.

But the boy had bested him. Had rejected his cynicism, denied that he would ever follow in his footsteps. Denied a Guardian his final wish, his final prayer.

… Where does that leave him?

He was trapped in a life of indiscriminate killing. He _is_ trapped in it. The Counter Force calls on him almost exclusively for it—and with Unlimited Blade Works, it was easy. To kill, and kill, and kill…

But the confrontation at the mansion had reminded him of where it all began. Where he had come from… and where he had gone wrong.

For the briefest moment, he wonders if he’s reverting back to that naive boy and he almost laughs to himself. What a thought.

But the moment the thought occurs to him, the fallen hero feels the tug of magic, something even more pervading than his bond with Rin.

Maybe he had known that it was there all along. Until this point he had refused to acknowledge its presence, after spending his entire afterlife denying it. But after everything that happened—after accepting his past self—

_Shirou?_

All at once, he’s lying on the ground, bruised and beaten, hopeless and destroyed.

_Ryuudou Temple..._

The scenario is a familiar one, one he’d been in countless times before. Both in life and in his time as a Counter Guardian, he had been knocked flat on his back, the battle all but lost, still frantically wondering what he could do.

Gilgamesh stands over him, atop a nearby shed, with Ea dissolving from his grip. “You are incapable of saving anything,” he says haughtily. “That shabby Archer said as much, did he not? That your ideals were not your own.”

Emiya Shirou turns his head in agonizing pain to glare at the golden king.

“I’m astonished that a man without anything to call his own was arrogant enough to think he could accomplish anything,” Gilgamesh continues, unrepentant. “‘Champion of justice’? ‘A world where no one is hurt’? Don’t be absurd. ‘Humanity’ is the name for beasts that cannot find joy in life without sacrifice. Your much-vaunted ‘equality’ is nonsense spouted by weaklings who cannot bear to stare into the abyss. It is naught but an excuse to cover up your own ugliness.”

 _Yeah, he’s exactly right._ Emiya Shirou admits to himself. _My desires are borrowed. A pretense I put on, copied from someone I once saw saving another. When it happened, I was empty inside. Everyone was dying indiscriminately, and nobody looked to save anyone else. If I hadn’t resigned myself to the idea that that’s how people are, I wouldn’t have been able to keep on living. That’s why… that’s precisely why I was so inspired by his ideal._

_Is that so wrong? Are these feelings fake just because they aren’t my own? Should I not achieve that ideal, just because it’s fake?_

_No. I know that’s not right._

_It doesn’t matter if it’s fake. Or an unattainable wish. I know that I can’t save everyone. I know that no one can be saved without sacrifice!_

_Even knowing that it was nothing but an ideal, I only chased after it even harder. Even if I hurt one to save many, I’ll keep pursuing a happy future where no one will be hurt._

_And this is where that ideal ultimately lead him._

_A man once told me that what I believed in—what I still believe in—was hypocrisy. But despite that, the man who said those words stayed true to that same hypocrisy to the end._

_Which means that I can do it. Even if it’s borrowed, even if it’s fake, I don’t care._

_I’m okay with that. Emiya Shirou can keep striving toward this dream! Even if he doesn’t find a single thing he was searching for!_

 

_...Come on… that’s all there was to it?_

The boy has the gall to be incredulous at him. Shirou struggles to stand up again; Gilgamesh tilts his head. “Though I may have held back, I’m sure you felt the blast of wind from Ea.”

“If you have all those weapons, why would you hold back just one?” Shirou challenges.

“Only the supreme ruler may wield that blade,” Gilgamesh says. “You haven’t the right to so much as look at it.” Golden gates open all around the king once more, throwing swords at Shirou—and he has so little mana left, can do next to nothing to help—

But the other golden Servant arrives with a sharp cry, and with a single swipe destroys the swords that dared challenge the lord of the Saber-class Servant.

“Are you unharmed, Shirou?” Saber says, Invisible Air held ready. She looks back at Gilgamesh, who smirks back at her. “I shall take over from here.”

“No, you go help Tohsaka.” Shirou walks ahead of her, resolute. Archer smiles to himself. “I can handle Gilgamesh by myself.”

Both Saber and Gilgamesh’s faces turn into looks of surprise. “What are you saying, Shirou?” Saber demands. “A mage is no match for a Servant.”

“Yes, but he and I are exceptions to the rules.” The boy turns back to Saber, his right hand clutching his Magic Crest. “Trust me,” he tells her, with a fire in his eyes that he knows all too well. “I know I can beat this guy!”

Saber looks to him, then to Gilgamesh, then back at the tower of blood where the Holy Grail was about to be summoned. Making up her mind, she says quietly, “Good luck. I shall keep Rin safe.”

She starts to walk away, but Shirou calls her back. “Saber...” He hesitates. “I wasn’t able to save you.” Saber turns back to him in surprise. “I think that Grail isn’t what you were hoping for. So take a good look. To make sure that you get it right next time.”

“Shirou…?”

“Sorry, it’s hard to explain,” he says apologetically. “I guess I was never cut out to be your Master. So...”

Saber shakes her head, a small smile on her face. “That is untrue. You are my Master, Shirou.” Turning back to the Grail, she continues, “I shall go fulfill my duty as a Servant. Let us continue our discussion afterward.”

For the last time, the golden Servant bounds away from her Master. Both the boy and the Guardian look to her for a few seconds; but there is nothing to be done except hope that she can handle the Grail. Furthermore, there were more pressing issues to be addressed—

The sound of quiet laughter bubbles across the courtyard, building up into a more manic, unhinged sound. The red Archer squints, picking up on the discord in the sound. He’s done his fake share of laughing in the face of—dare he say it, heartbreak, and he knows how to tell the difference from genuine mirth. He spares a moment to pity the golden Archer in his hopelessness.

“Are you mad, boy?” Gilgamesh goads, snapping out of it. “You choose to be the sacrificial pawn, rather than use Saber? You fool. The act of self-sacrifice is naught but a lie. Being unable to see that, even now, marks you as an incorrigible hypocrite.”

The golden gates around him open once more, but Shirou only smiles at the insults. “A fraud and a hypocrite, huh?” he murmurs quietly, as if to himself, words only meant for the Guardian he knew was nearby. “I guess. I am a fake through and through, after all.” From the Magic Crest he pulls out a tendril of mana, a blue ball of fire in his palm. “But I was mistaken all along. My sword-making doesn’t actually create them. There’s only one thing that I can do. And that’s to give form to what’s in my mind!”

And the silent observer has been expecting this, but it still resonates with him when the boy begins the invocation:

_“I am the bone of my sword_

_“Steel is my body and fire is my blood_

_I have created over a thousand blades_

_Unaware of Loss, nor aware of Gain—”_

The change in incantation breaks his focus—had he not always said _not known to Death, nor known to Life?_

But the flow of mana doesn’t stop, and it makes perfect sense—this Shirou had not received the incantation, as he had, as the single thing he could hold onto after everything had betrayed him. His invocation had been a lament, a requiem for a fight that he no longer believed in. For an ideal, a life, that had long since betrayed him.

Shirou’s is a hopeful prayer, a promise never to turn from his ideal.

Noble Phantasm-rank weapons speed toward him, threatening his life—Archer thinks of the flower shield, the strongest defense he had stored in Unlimited Blade Works; the fight in the mansion had been long enough that it was highly likely that Shirou had copied most of his armory. On cue, in a burst of pink magic, a five-petal Rho Aias appears in front of Shirou, absorbing the impact of the swords Gilgamesh throws at him.

“ _Withstood pain to create many weapons,_

_Waiting for one’s arrival—_

_I have no regrets. This is the only path_

_My whole life... was Unlimited Blade Works!_ ”

And the Bounded Field for another Reality Marble erupts in orange fire on the ground around the king and the boy, in a blinding light that he’s seen many times. When the light fades, both of them are gone.

Unlimited Blade Works, the natural counter to the Gate of Babylon. With both of them inside, it is possible for Shirou to overcome Gilgamesh.

Behind him, the Holy Grail makes a terrible sound, an inhuman wail that sounds like a thousand souls screaming for mercy. Without hesitation, he hurries over through the trees, toward Rin and Saber.

When he emerges from the forest, Saber is alone, standing at the edge of the lake, its cursed water barely inches from her feet. The air is heavy with death and decay, and one breath of it would be fatal to any regular human.

In the middle of the lake is the Grail, pulsating black and purple and red, like a tumor that grew out of the mountain. The malevolence of humanity condensed and given a form, and from within it, through the last vestiges of a bond, he hears her desperate thoughts:

_—is it, I guess. But I won’t let it end like this! By my Command Spell, I order you: Saber, destroy the Holy Grail right now!_

A familiar pulse of mana washes through the area, and it passes through him, unaffecting. Saber recoils; Excalibur bursts in gold, like a beacon in the night. “What? Impossible!” Saber yells. “Rin! Get out of there!”

 _Sorry, Saber,_ Rin says weakly. _You probably wouldn’t do it if I just asked you, so I have to force you._

Rin intends to die—something visceral inside him screams in protest, in abject agony. _Hypocrite_ , a voice in the back of his mind screams. But he ignores it—he has to do something, anything—

In the face of his Master’s demise, he forces the last of his mana to come together, to project a rain of swords, ready to fire at the abomination in the lake. His very existence threatens to wrench him apart, barely having enough mana to keep him tethered to the world; despite this, he says, through a bond too long unused, _Your pathetic whining offends me_.

The Holy Grail explodes in a shower of swords, sending chunks of flesh flying through the air. The monster roars its displeasure, its arms swinging wildly through the air. But it’s enough to free her, and he says, _Now go, Rin!_

She carries Shinji back to the shore in small, agonized steps, as Excalibur continues to respond to the mana from the Command. “Hurry, Rin!” Saber calls, struggling to contain her holy sword.

Gasping, Rin calls, “Saber! I’m feeding you the last of my mana! So take that Holy Grail and blast it so hard there won’t be a single trace left!” Rin raises her Command Spell to the sky, as a shockwave of mana envelops Saber and lights up both her and her sword in golden flame.

“ _EX…”_

The golden Servant shines with a brilliance to light up the night, concentrating all her mana into the one attack, pointed straight at the abomination in the lake.

“ _...CALIBUR_!”

The Holy Grail is torn apart, exploding right down the middle where the holy sword hit. The red tendrils that connected it to the portal in the sky are severed,  stopping the collection of evil wishes from the surrounding area. The portal erupts with a mighty explosion, setting the temple awash in light. The dust settles on the city, a night of fireflies the only remnant of what would have been its destruction.

Saber’s face softens as she holds out an armored hand to catch one of the golden specks, some of it landing in her hair. Parts of her armor shimmer, and start to disintegrate into the same dust that surround them—and even now, the Guardian thinks of how beautiful she looks in moonlight.

“Our contract is concluded. Victory is yours, Rin,” she says quietly, turning to face her Master, unaware of the spirit in the shadows. “Were it allowed, I would have liked to have remained to the end to see what becomes of you two.” She’s half gone in a shower of golden mana, and Archer has no choice but to look at her, to see her disappear before him once again. “However, that is not my role. After all, Shirou has you, Rin.”

The night is too blue, too cold, without the golden Servant to brighten it. He remembers a much warmer sunset, lighting up the last look he thought he would ever have of her—

But he had seen her again, here. In a war for the majority of which she had had no idea who he was, and when she learned of who he is, and what he’d become, had looked at him in disbelief and pity, and could not reconcile him with her image of the innocent boy.

 _In a war that is not yet over,_ he reminds himself. He takes one more look at Rin, ensures her wellbeing, then retreats into the trees, back near the courtyard.

Gilgamesh and Shirou emerge from Unlimited Blade Works in a markedly different state. Gilgamesh is missing his right arm, and his chest is slashed across, with a wound that he knows by sight was caused by one of the harmony blades. Shirou, on the other hand, looks winded but alive, and if Archer didn’t know any better, had his hair blown back much more from fighting.

“You ran out of mana? How anticlimactic.” Gilgamesh takes out a single spear from his armory. “Victory is yours. Die with that satisfaction, faker.”

But before the king can fire, a black vaccuum forms at the cut of Gilgamesh’s arm— “What? Swallowing me accomplishes nothing… wait!”

“The Holy Grail’s hole...” Shirou says, reverence in his voice.

A golden chain shoots out of the black void, catching Shirou’s arm and pulling him forward.

“That malformed abomination!” Gilgamesh screams. “Does it not know that a fellow Servant cannot be made its core?”

“Damn it,” Shirou yells, struggling against the chain. “You’re trying to take me down with you?!”

“Fool! I haven’t the least intention of dying!” Gilgamesh tugs, pulling Shirou slightly forward. “Plant your heels, ruffian! At least until I climb back to where you are!”

Shirou’s face twists in hatred. “As if! I’ll rip off my own arm if that’s what it takes!”

And Archer has next to no mana, after the suppressive fire he laid down at the Grail, barely enough to keep him in this world. But he is nothing if not hardheaded, as he has always been since life, so he projects one last blade, just a dirk, and nocks it—

“Do as you wish, but step to the right first.”

Shirou turns to him in surprise, and it gives him the opening he needs—he fires.

It hits the king square in the forehead, the dagger slicing through skin and bone. With his dying breath, Gilgamesh says: “Ar… cher...” His eyes widen, and the golden chain disintegrates, freeing Shirou. The void engulfs the king, making a horrifying noise before it consumes itself.

Shirou stands amidst a pile of rubble, winded from the fight but safe, and alive. “Really… what a showoff,” he murmurs, to the quiet temple.

Satisfied, the Guardian smirks and leaves.

\--

The back of Ryuudou Temple is untouched forest—forests and rolling hills that frame the sunrise perfectly. Those have always symbolized new beginnings, right? Then what an apt view to gaze at, right as he ends his time as a Heroic Spirit, imbued with new purpose.

“Archer!”

… But of course she would come find him, his persistent Master. She runs to him, out of breath, still tired from the events of the day.

“Archer...”

She must have finally looked at him properly, seen the way his body is disintegrating, much like Saber had done, not too long ago. Through the remains of a long-broken bond, he thinks he feels her desperation—but at this point, he doubts it’s still the bond forged by the Grail that keeps them together.

“It’s unfortunate, but there you have it,” he begins lightly, putting a hand on his hip. He keeps facing the sunset; his white hair brushes his forehead, and he’s aware of how he looks with his hair down. “Give up on the Grail this time, Rin.” She’s quiet behind him, and he hears her take a breath—a muffled sob. Despite himself, he laughs, a short, chopped sound. It feels unusual in his throat—when was the last time he’d laughed like that?

“What’s with that?” says Rin reproachfully. “This is hardly the time to  be laughing!”

“My apologies,” he says unapologetically, half-turning to face her. “I couldn’t help it, given your state. I was amused that you and I cut such sorry figures.” The wind blows across the hilltop; his hair brushes gently across his forehead.

Rin’s face betrays no surprise; instead, she clasps her hands together in front of her, like a prayer. “Archer… will you form a contract with me again?” she says, a quiet plea in her voice.

“I can’t do that. I doubt I have that right,” he answers, turning back to face the sunset. “Besides, I no longer have a goal. My battle ends here.”

“But… but this means you’ll... ” Her voice breaks off into a sob. “No matter how much time passes, you’ll never be saved...”

He turns back to her quickly—tears stream down her face, shining in the light of dawn. He feels like the errant boy once more, saying stupid things that kept making this remarkable girl cry. “Oh, man,” he says sheepishly. “Rin,” he calls, and she looks up at him in surprise.

“Take care of me, will you? You know I’m a little hopeless. Give me a shoulder to lean on.” Rin’s tears spill over her cheeks once more, finally looking at him properly, seeing the warm smile on his face and the hair over his forehead, and her heart breaks because _this is him, this is who I’ve loved, even when he’s the asshole who lies to me and tricks me—!_

And he remembers another sunset, in another life, when he was on the other side of this situation, watching his Servant disappear at the end of a Grail War—

_—Saber’s resilience, the smile on her face, her bright blue clothes dulled to almost gray by the orange sunlight, and for a moment he could imagine that she was still wearing her metal armor, gleaming in the light as it always did as she swore to be his blade, turning to face him and saying the words that didn’t need to be said._

“ _Shirou—I love you._ ”

But that’s completely different, he thinks. That’s not the same kind of love he feels for Rin, who grew to love his former self even knowing that the failed version of him was standing right by her side; who when she found out what he was, still sought him to the end, to help in any way she could, even after betrayal.

“Yeah, I know,” she promises. “I’ll do my best. I’ll try my hardest to make sure he doesn’t end up a twisted jerk like you.” Archer smirks to himself; although, admittedly, he _has_ been a twisted jerk, but leave it to Rin to call him out on it so blatantly in a sentimental moment. “I’ll make sure he learns to love himself! So you hang in there too!”

In the betrayal of his ideal he had dedicated his life to, his perception of the world had shattered. Amidst everything else, he had never considered broken he had become, how much he had come to despise himself to fixate on killing his younger self—on killing himself. A roundabout act of self-hatred, of suicide.

He knows now that that would have solved nothing. Because he, the Guardian, had come to hate himself as he had chosen this path, had invalidated all his choices and left nothing but an empty shell. Left with nothing but to hate himself, to hate the young boy who had yet to feel the crushing weight of his choices and would grow up to suffer the same.

But Rin had summoned him, and as she stayed with him through his early life, she had stayed with him beyond death. The thought of her making sure he learns to love himself—of making sure Shirou does—is something that, at the start of the Grail War, he would have scoffed at.

Right now, it is a beautiful thought.

And so Heroic Spirit Emiya smiles, a simple, innocent happiness in his heart. “I have my answer. Don’t worry, Tohsaka,” he says quietly, lapsing to how he had called her in life, awash with affection which she returns. “I’ll try my hardest from now on, too.”

The smile doesn’t fade from his face as he disappears, and before he fades away he sees a head of orange hair poking through the bushes behind Rin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the malevolent spirit in the holy grail is angra mainyu, aka avenger, aka the easiest thing to write in this entire story. thats my babe <3
> 
> that's the end of the unlimited blade works route as we know it. this is the bit where i put all my thank yous to everyone who's come along with me on this wild ride--but it's not the end yet :D stick around for the epilogue, which should be up within the next few days ;)


	11. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over half of this chapter was directly lifted from the source material, so um... yea. i claim no credit for that. praise nasu.
> 
> here it is... the long-awaited happiness for my boy heroic spirit emiya. enjoy!

...What a long journey.

The time spent, the ideals pursued, the life where possibilities become realities, all sorts of trouble. No matter how far he walked, the distance did not close. Without rest, without giving up, without hesitation, with strained eyes. He walked down that long road.

His journey continued with no end in sight. The reason why is very simple: where should he go, what should he do, in order to end his journey? He should have decided those answers at the very beginning, but he apparently had not.

Nothing is indestructible. No matter how durable a machine is, it will slowly wear away with use. Machines, bodies, and spirits are all alike in this. Everything will be damaged in time. Everytime one looks at something, its color fades a little more. Therefore, even his heart, which did not recognize anything as painful, would perhaps finally notice after many years of repetition.

Hope and despair are inseparable. Noble ideals become tiring duties, and in the end a sordid obsession. What people idolize in childhood becomes a mundane reality, and though they may look back on it, they lose that respect. That is the correct mentality for anyone that’s human.

But, because he was not “correct”, he carefully locked away his heart that could feel pain.

His heart of iron was proof that he was a man of tin. Like this the long journey could continue. In exchange he felt less pleasure, but fortunately he was not a greedy man; he was happy to be rewarded once in a while.

He yearned for something beautiful. He saw many people and towns. Beautiful things existed everywhere… but he could not encounter the starlight he had parted with on that day. The reason his journey did not end was likely not because he lacked a goal. It was because he had not found what he was really looking for.

But it was a satisfying life.

\--

The duty of the king has not ended.

In order to fulfill that promise, the king could not return to the time before the sword, even in death. Time passed, the country prospered, and the people changed. Even if there was no longer anyone who desired a noble king, that oath remained. After all, in order to make it so, she had been entrusted with many lives.

However, the dream she caught glimpses of was a sad one. She saw flashes of scenery from the depths of sleep. She wanted to at least have the voice of her heart reach the lonely travels of the man who was now very far away. He may have stowed away his humanity and become a machine that merely repeated the same thing. His pain may not have been noticed by anyone.

But she was there, and she knew his strength.

However, she had an eternal promise. If the past was unchangeable, then it truly was eternal. The king was eternally bound by her past oath and resolution. She herself was the one who would least forgive the act of returning to the way she was before pulling out the sword.

But she wanted to meet him. Even if she slept for eternity. She wanted him to hear her voice.

“That is difficult,” the magus had said. “To begin with, your time periods are hopelessly different. … You could hardly meet by any normal means. To make it happen, well… it would require two miracles. One must keep waiting, and another must keep pursuing.

“You must bear it for a terribly long time, even while believing it to be impossible. I hate to say it, but it’s a pipe dream not worth wishing for, don’t you think?”

\--

And then.

For both him and her, a long time passed.

\--

His eyes open.

How far has he walked? He chose to walk only through desolate lands, but after exiting a deep forest, he finds himself standing in a familiar grassy plain.

He isn’t certain about the place. How many months and years has it been since then, and how far of a distance has he gone since then? … It’s all unclear now.

He lowers his burden from his shoulders, and rests his tense body. ...Ah. He thought he would walk forever. But it seems this is the end of his journey.

The view is clear and wide. The wind that rustles the grass unties the bonds that were twined so heavily around him. His heart calmly returns to that time with each step.

He stares at the endless blue sky, thinking about the unspoken promise. It was the delusion of the young, a wish akin to a bluff. They had looked at the same sky and felt the same thing. So if he pursued it, it would definitely come true.

\--

Then. She wakes from her dream as well.

\--

Without realizing, he hurries forward. His breathing quickens slightly. Unbelievable—how many years has it been since he’s been short of breath? It’s as if he has gone back to the time when he was still young and inexperienced.

No, but—just because he’s gained experience doesn’t mean he is an adult, he laughs at himself. His time as a Heroic Spirit and a Counter Guardian could never have prepared him for this.

But there is some unease as well. This wish, this miracle, should it really be brought back? He is not who he was back then. His heart and body have worn down, just as she has grieved.

(He is not the same person to whom she had professed her love.)

He has not always been thinking of this scene, either. It was not attachment; he simply did not forget. He has only held on to this gradually fading memory of the past.

(A small voice in his heart wants to ask: _Do you still love me?_ )

He cannot deceive himself any longer. As he catches a glimpse of her, something he has only remembered in words revives itself vividly in his mind. That which he has stowed carefully away begins to move once more.

She stands in the middle of a grassy meadow, the breeze blowing her golden hair back. Her white dress flutters around her, the sunlight bouncing off of it, painting her ethereal.

“----------------------, Ah.”

Familiar blood runs through his tin heart.

A golden land. In the home of the woman he parted with long ago, his heart has finally caught up with him. His smile is as simple as a boy’s, just as it once was.

“I’m home, Saber.”

Her footsteps on the ground are light. Maybe it’s in reaction to the smile on his own face, but the girl smiles as if falling apart.

“Yes—welcome back, Shirou.”

She holds out her arms and pulls him across the last bit of distance that remains between them, and the eternity that he traversed to get here seems small and insignificant as he finally holds her in his arms.

She tilts her head up to face him, and he feels her press a smile against his chest, sending a shiver down his spine. He presses his lips against her hair, and something inside of him breaks; a single tear rolls down his cheek and drops onto her head.

Saber pulls away just enough to look at him, her eyes also shining with tears. He cups her face to wipe at her tears—he had vowed, all his life, to do all he could to stop people from crying. But _this_ , Saber still smiling radiantly at him as her tears flow fast down her cheeks, brings him nothing but happiness.

To have come all this way and have his wish properly realized. He brings his face closer to hers, feeling her warm breath on his lips before he presses his lips against hers in a gentle kiss.

She smiles against him, and he smiles back helplessly, still holding her close, until he remembers a long-forgotten goodbye, yet unanswered.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've gone through last episode about 5 times over the course of writing this fic, but every time, it still makes me so emotional ;-; archer my baby ;--------;
> 
> that's it for this story! thank you to everyone who's been part of this wild ride-- everyone who's taken a peek at it, commented, and passersby who gave this fic a chance. it means a lot to me, every single one of you, thank you.
> 
> and of course no person is as instrumental to this fic as shutters, my beta, who until um [checks watch] an hour ago reminded me that i should've published the epilogue much earlier than this HAHA. i am so blessdt to have you as my beta.
> 
> find me at [bio-at](http://bio-at.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! extended author's notes are also available there under the tag 'familiar blood' if you're into that.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at bio-at on tumblr if you wanna chat!


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